


Fire Consumes Fire

by bloodrunsred



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alien Sex, BAMF Morty Smith, Bottom Morty Smith, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dom Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Edgeplay, Loud Sex, M/M, Mention - Freeform, Oviposition, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Rick, Protective Rick, Slow Burn, Teasing, Tentacle Sex, Top Rick, Unhealthy Relationships, Virgin Morty Smith, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodrunsred/pseuds/bloodrunsred
Summary: Rick and Morty had a pretty decent relationship....Except for the fact that Rick had been avoiding him for months.After Morty is forced to beg Rick to go on an adventure--something he quickly regrets when alone time becomes an imaginary concept--he and Rick predictably have one last task to complete before they can go home. It should have been simple, but when do things ever end up being like that with his grandpa involved?Maybe it would have gone better without the sexual tension that was threatening to ruin their relationship for good.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez & Morty Smith, Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 13
Kudos: 277





	Fire Consumes Fire

**Author's Note:**

> if you can guess a SINGLE song i listened to while writing this, you can win something. idk what, you can make it up :) 
> 
> so there's no confusion: 100% consensual porn with feelings between two related characters; Morty's age is NOT specified, so think what you will (but i consider him at least 18).
> 
> also this was exactly 69 pages im so proud of myself :')
> 
> this was a commission for the wonderfully talented [GhostyGoo-Girl](https://ghostygoo-girl-nsfw.tumblr.com/)!! I hope it's everything you wanted babe <33

Waiting for Rick was like waiting for a bushfire to stop burning; it fed on trees and bush, on the animals and towns, and wouldn’t stop until something made it, or it razed itself to nonexistence.

Morty had been with his Rick since he was twelve, which is why he wasn’t even remotely surprised by the fact that most Ricks were not the waiting sort. It wasn’t exactly hard to guess, or even understand (as dim as he could be sometimes); Rick was unpredictable, and wild, his ideas and thoughts spreading through his mind faster than any flame could advance over land. One might think that he would be fast with his plans and their execution, as the genius of the pair, and he truly was--but he was calculating. Clever.

Rick liked the long-game almost as much as he liked the short-game. Sometimes that manifested itself into planned, psychological infiltration; disassembling the Vindicators, taking over as the Smith family patriarch being only two examples from a list longer than Morty’s forearm. And then, on the other side of the coin, sometimes that determination fizzled out into the excruciating hours of silence; resource gathering or, in this case, the most boring two hours of Morty’s life.

Whoever it was that they were supposed to be meeting, they were clearly someone that Rick could thoroughly appreciate, while still hate completely and entirely. Which wasn’t surprising at all; that’s just how the majority of Rick’s friendships worked. The guy did… something for Rick, that Morty hadn’t quite been filled in on yet. He was sure that it wasn’t something too bad (but, even while he thought that, images of explosions and death and war crossed his mind), but Rick was being secretive. No, he was being worse than secretive; Rick was a secretive person on a good day, and this was the next level of doomsday paranoia. His mouth was locked shut as he jiggled his leg, shifting and sighing in the uncomfortable plastic chairs.

“Rick,” Morty whined, for the umpteenth time. “C’mon, man, just tell me what you--what we’re doing here, and I promise I’ll shut up.”

Here was, according to Rick, a planet just off of the Andromeda system, but still in their dimension, _thank God._ If Morty never went to an alternate universe again, it would be too soon after what he’d been through recently.

And, like he had read Morty’s thoughts and was showing him the cold, calculating anger that only he and Morty’s mom could pull off, Rick sent him the _look_.

It was the one that, on the battlefield, sent hot flashes of fear down Morty’s spine, every inch of his body stiffening and reminding him that, yes, Rick was as much a predator as any lion, as much as a scavenger as any vulture, and more of a danger than anyone else in Morty’s life. It was one that Rick used sparingly, because he knew how much it unsettled Morty to be looked at like he was more of a belonging than a person. 

Not that Rick would ever actually admit that he cared about what he did that unsettled Morty or not.

It was in that moment that he could see the parts of Rick that were human, and the parts of him that were more automated than not; the unnatural blue in his right eye that distinguished it from the clear grey of his left, the way his breathing was strong and steady, and so unlike every other elderly person that Morty had ever encountered. 

Rick was a monster unlike any other that Morty had encountered; strong, tangible, intelligent… and in his corner. Instead of it being just Rick as the monster under the bed, he allowed Morty to hide with him. He protected Morty, even if it was only because Morty was a shield, or useful helper. Hell, even other monsters turned away from Rick _and_ Morty as though they were a single entity.

It was a power-rush like no other, with a fleeting high that was softened by Morty drowning in the blood of their-- _Rick’s_ \--enemies.

It was no exaggeration to say that Morty had bad experiences associated with the look, which made it hard to read the situation. And, when Morty couldn’t help but find Rick hard to read, he normally turned to one of two infallible strategies.

Number one: he had to tilt his head down, let the faucets that were in constant connection to his brain his eyes overflow, and apologise. There were risks and benefits. The risks included Rick being even more annoyed by Morty’s display of emotion, and expressing that distaste in a multitude of ways, and the benefits coming out to play with Rick’s softer side.

There was a good way to describe Rick; harsh, less harsh, and drunk. Morty crying made Rick want to drink, and Rick drinking lowered his inhibitions. It either distracted Rick enough for Morty to get a foothold on his feelings, or it exposed Rick’s emotions and soul for Morty to judge them in the middle of the night. It wasn’t hard to judge Rick on a normal day, but there was something especially unique about the kind of solace Morty found in the darkness of his room, with Rick sloshed out of his mind and all the more truthful for it.

The second method was a little more unorthodox, and would likely have him wind up in a psych ward if he ever told anyone; the fact was, Rick was easy to rile up, and anger was easier to pin than Rick’s particular brand of apathy. The way Rick’s lips curled in a snarl, and the way his eyes narrowed were all the signs Morty needed in order to survive. He could bring the signs on himself if he needed to, but that lead to the less-desirable risks. Getting pushed down the stairs, experimented on… the list could go on for days, and Morty wouldn’t even be half finished.

It was rare for him to even consider the second option, though.

So, Morty took the safe route, and blinked at Rick from under his lashes, doing his best to imitate a lamb, or any other tiny animal that might evoke Rick’s more generous and grudgingly accepting side. Unfortunately, his hopes were dashed in little to no time at all; Rick barely giving him a glance before huffing and turning pointedly away.

It took every inch of willpower to stop his jaw from dropping open.

First the _look,_ and now this?

There were a few things that Morty could tell someone about Rick; he liked to party, he liked to make shitty jokes, and his attention span was more akin to a kid’s than it was an actual functioning adult. Whether or not that was because of his alcohol addiction, consistent drug abuse, or just how he was drawn, Morty _couldn’t_ say. That meant that Rick refusing to interact at all wasn’t just rare, it was a one in a billion experience.

Rick didn’t _do_ the silent treatment, he did snarky comments and hurtful truth bombs, and stupid purge ripoffs. Or he went off to drink by himself, which was more self-isolation and self-punishment than it was him attempting to ignore someone. That was just Morty’s less-than-informed opinion anyway.

A bump sounded down the hall, and Morty flinched instinctively.

“Wha…?”

He swung his head around to gauge Rick’s opinion, but the older man was still frustratingly fixated on the white, sterile wall in front of him. 

Another thump sounded out, along with what sounded like furniture scraping across the floor, and Morty startled again. Where the fuck had Rick _taken_ him? Was the guy they were going to meet the same guy that was probably tossing furniture around the room like an animal? Rick scoffed, and Morty suddenly felt like how he normally did.

Like he was being made fun of. Like Rick knew something he didn’t.

“Hey--hey, c’mon, what’s going on, Rick?” Morty hated how his voice always got whiny whenever he was trying hard to not sound accusing, while still accusing Rick of something. “I--I don’t wanna meet with a creep or anything like that!”

He really, really, really hated this place, he decided. It was creepy, and the few aliens that he had seen had looked like they were falling apart by the seam--which, honestly, was not the best first impression that he had ever had of a place, but he had tried to roll with it. He had tried to prove himself to Rick as anything other than a whiny crybaby, but now here he was. Crybaby Morty.

Jeez.

Rick was probably thinking the same thing, judging by the way his mouth twitched and his brow furrowed, but he still wasn’t talking. _Ugh._

Morty felt like a child waiting with his mom to see the doctor, crossing his arms and kicking his legs irritably. He wasn’t stupid for not knowing things that Rick didn’t tell him--it was Rick’s job to make sure that Morty understood what was happening during missions!

The old bastard really had been pissing Morty off recently.

The first incident that really stood out in Morty’s mind was the quick errand they had run on Optus Printu. 

* * *

_Rick was being suspiciously quiet. He wasn’t actively ignoring Morty, but he wasn’t answering his questions with the same amount of disdain that Morty was used to. It was… disconcerting to say in the least, but sometimes got strangely introspective when he tried new drugs so Morty wasn’t rushing to make a judgement._

_“Rick, ca--I have a bad feeling about this,” Morty said, looking at the glowing flowers that were slowly but surely weaving their way around his knees. They were beautiful, but Morty felt dizzy in a way that was decidedly not born of paranoia. “Are you sure we shouldn’t just--I don’t know, come back when you’re feeling a bit better? Mom said that you were looking a bit peaky recently, and--jeez, I don’t know.”_

_And there it was: the whole reason Morty was concerned to begin with._

_“Mhm,” Rick said, noncommittally._

_Not, ‘Morty, you idiot, you--your mother doesn’t know shit, Morty!’, not ‘Shut the fuck up, Morty!’. Just a fucking ‘Mhm.’_

_At this point, Morty was almost convinced that Rick was a robot. The only things that stopped him from reaching the logical conclusion, were the fact that Rick’s robots weren’t terrible; they were mostly realistic, with only some stumbles in their speech and reaction as they slowly grew sentience and tried to kill the real-Rick. The second thing was that, after the last few botched attempts of robot Ricks and Mortys, Morty had watched Rick massacre them in a way that was similar to the way he scrapped Operation Phoenix. At least there was significantly less blood--though there was still some, which was terrifying when he hadn’t had a clue what was going on._

_“O-only shitty robots don’t bleed red, Morty. What’s going to happen if they got im--impaled or some shit, and there was zero blood? Use your fucking head!”_

_(He’d had nightmares for days afterward.)_

_If his legs weren’t literally unmovable at this point, he would have stomped his foot; as it was, he just scowled as Rick took another swig of his drink. What an asshole. If he were more like Summer, he would--well, he probably wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place, for starters--but he definitely would be getting treated with more respect than this!_

_Even if was only because Summer was a bitch when she didn’t get her way._

_He was squeezed by the plants again, and he squirmed on the spot as they reached up his inner thigh, a yelp escaping his throat as he toppled backwards. “R-rick!” he yelled out, and it was like the scientist had been shaken from a stupor._

_“You moron, Morty!” He pulled Morty up, shooting at the tendrils until they backed up. “You were sup-supposed to stay still!”_

_Still? Rick expected him to stay still with mutant plants strangling his legs?!_

_“Why? Rick, that’s stupid!”_

_And Morty typically made it a point not to make fun of Rick’s intelligence. It always ended in a dumb dick-measuring contest that ruined Morty’s day (or week, if Rick was feeling ambitious)._

_But Rick only groaned and rolled his eyes (which was why Morty wasn’t even worried about making a jab at Rick’s decision making), and Morty pressed his fingers against his legs to search for blossoming bruises under his jeans. Whatever those plants were, they had a firm grip, and his legs were more than likely going to suffer for it. Rick gave Morty a cursory glance, before taking another deep sip from his drink._

_“For science--and you ruined it, Morty, you’re--you really ruined it.”_

* * *

Rick, for whatever reason, had decided to shut down nearly entirely. He wasn’t explaining anything, he wasn’t talking Morty through his thinking like he always used to do--and it was basically second nature, so the sudden change still left Morty reeling--and Morty was… unsure how to cope with the loss.

 _Absence makes the heart grow fonder._ For such a cliche little phrase (that Morty had seen posted too many times on Instagram), it rang so true that Morty felt like curling up into a little ball and… feeling stuff about it without Rick there to witness him and judge him, or even worse--change Morty’s emotions without even trying.

Because, as much as Rick was frustrating him, he still wanted Rick to _like_ him. 

He still wanted to know what changed. He, for whatever insane reason, wanted Rick’s approval even when things started going bad; if anything, Rick’s anger only made him want the happiness and genuine contentment more than ever.

Another thump sounded, startling Morty out of his increasingly wandering thoughts, along with… yelling of some kind, in an alien language that Morty wasn’t familiar with. Rick rubbed his forehead, the heels of his palms pressing harshly into his eyes, and Morty immediately honed in on that. That was the tell of a Rick that was hearing something stupid--Morty knew that action quite intimately, for the reasons one might expect. So, he followed the natural train of thought that sprung to life in his brain:

Rick was a genius.

Rick knew lots of things.

Rick had also been in space for longer than Morty had been alive.

That meant that the chances of him knowing the language were larger than Morty’s, which meant that Morty’s inherent curiosity might actually be sated. Maybe whatever was happening would be interesting enough for Rick to break his sudden vow of silence--for someone that ripped Summer to shreds for her more teenage behaviours, he was a rampant gossip, and nearly everyone knew it.

“S-so what’s going on, Rick?” Morty asked. He didn’t even bother asking Rick if he knew the language first--if Rick did, then he would be offended that Morty didn’t automatically assume that he did, and if he didn’t know it, then he would be all mean and cranky. “Wh-what are they saying?”

Something was shoved up against the wall, and the sound of warbling started up again, even louder than before.

Rick broke his gaze away from the wall, and Morty pouted at the glare levelled in his direction.

“I’m not gonna lie, _Mooortyyyy,_ your questions are getting on my nerves a bit,” Rick said, slouching back even further. “We just have to wait for the asshole to--to finish his _business_ or whatever, we get your--our shit sorted, and we go back home.”

“...Can I get a mermaid if I do?”

Maybe it was a risk to bring up something so similar to what he had said before the whole _incident,_ but Rick wanted Morty to act like he was cool with it, and it was just a joke so there was no reason for anyone to think deeper into it.

...Rick didn’t get that memo.

“We just went through this with the dragon, Morty, I--I’ll beat your ass before I’m forced through anything like that again. Jesus, that dragon was a creep, imagine-” Rick said, before Morty actually saw him screw his mouth up, stopping himself from saying anything else. 

_What the fuck?_

“It was just a _joke,_ Rick!” Morty said, trying his best not to actively copy Rick’s body language. Which was even harder now that he was focusing on not doing it, because Morty learned bad posture from his grandfather, along with how to be rude using body language--it was one of the only ways of disrespect that Rick let slide. “Y-you know, I’m getting real sick of your attitude too, Rick, you ever think about that? Jeez, you keep-”

He stopped talking, because Rick was just _ignoring_ him. 

He was really, really, _really,_ starting to get worried about Rick and his less than social behaviour. Rick had never been the nicest, obviously, but he wasn’t making fun of Morty with the same vigour as he used to, and he was stopping _himself_ from talking. Rick never did that. He loved to hear himself talk, and he loved to use his voice as one of his most powerful weapons; Morty had heard the man get a decent amount of licks in whilst getting strangled to near death.

Rick’s ability to speak despite everyone in the universe telling him to shut up and sit down, was nothing less than terrifying, as well as slightly awe-inspiring.

_So what the fuck did Morty do that had him accomplishing what hundreds of people have tried, and failed, to do?_

Morty kept getting distracted. The constant vibrations of the wall being hit and the alien voices that were steadily increasing in volume only served as fuel to the cesspool of turmoil pooling in Morty’s stomach. The thumping, the guttural voices, every aspect of it was--it was--

 _Fuck._ It was, for some reason, going straight to his groin.

He looked down, fidgeting slightly, and was only the tiniest bit grateful to realise that it wasn’t all that obvious yet--the fact that blood was flowing steadily downwards, something that had him chewing at his bottom lip desperately--but it would be if Morty didn’t cut off his _stupid fucking hormones._ He didn’t need to panic just yet, he rationalised. He could deal with this.

Except he couldn’t deal with this because he was panicking!

 _Shit._ Sure, Morty was a teenage boy, and sure his family was probably a little unorthodox when it came to sexual things (but it was normal, okay? The fact that Morty had had a sex-bot and infant alien at fourteen didn’t mean anything), but now? Here? With Rick right next to him?

And, _ohhhh,_ if there was anyone to blame for this, it was Rick; the adventure that they’d just come back from had left Morty unable to do anything, and they had been messing around with that stupid apocalyptic planet for _two weeks_. Rick had always been lurking around, almost glued to Morty’s hip even, and Morty had known he would be desperate to get off when they finally got home. 

Hey, it wasn’t like he could be blamed for it: apocalypses got boring after the first few melted corpses they stumbled upon, and he did try to get some alone time! But Rick had been insistent about getting some kind of ore for his work. If he wasn’t completely sure that Rick was angry at him for some reason or another, he would have assumed that Rick was trying to protect him from the cannibals (because you’ve gotsa have cannibals in an apocalypse--he supposed there might be some message in how many cannibals there were in every apocalypse movie and real life, about human nature and stuff but he fell asleep during that english lesson). But, still, he almost got eaten anyway so that didn’t really make much sense.

* * *

_“Rick!” Morty complained, knocking another creepy lady down when she tried to rip his face off. He readjusted his grip on his makeshift weapon--a street sign that had been ripped out of the ground--and turned back to Rick. “Come on! Can I--can you just let me use one of your guns! I’m a teenager, not a--not a stupid baby.”_

_It was kind of fair for Rick to take away his gun privileges, but at the same time--shouldn’t there be an exception for wastelands, and ruins, and places where people were actively trying to eat them? And, okay, maybe he had been going a little trigger happy as of late and, sure, maybe Rick had gotten shot once or five times, but that was like getting a papercut to him anyway! All Morty wanted to do was go and hide himself away in one of the gross, slimy abandoned buildings and release his pent up energy in a more productive way than murder, and Rick just had to be so, so against that. It’s like he didn’t remember what it was like to be a teenage boy._

_“Whatever, M-ouRghh-ty,” Rick belched, and acid green spittle landed on Morty’s cheek. That wasn’t healthy, right? “Jus’--jus’ stop bitching, okay? You’re bitching my fucking dick off, Morty.”_

_“Rick-”_

_And Rick’s frown twisted into an unkind smile, almost lecherous as he leaned over Morty--making Morty all the more aware of the height difference between them, something he had many conflicting feelings about--when he started talking again. “Ooh,” he cooed, voice falsely sweet as he narrowed his eyes. “These--these apocalypse girls really get you going, huh?”_

_Ew. They were skin and bone, and tended to be wearing rotting flesh. No thanks. But, hey! At least Rick wasn’t being so short with him still, because that had been something that Morty wanted nipped in the bud right away._

_But, because it was Morty and the universe hated him more than it hated Rick (apparently), Rick’s attention was disgusting and Morty wanted to breathe air that hadn’t been breathed by him first._

_Ugh._

_Unfortunately, if there were two things Morty wasn’t, it was clear and concise. “No!” he said, so defensively that even he wondered if he was lying. “I just--we’ve been here for ages, Rick, and I haven’t even had room to take a piss!”_

_Morty valued privacy, and while his definition of privacy had definitely become a little skewed over the course of their adventures, he still knew what he liked and didn’t like when it came to his personal space._

_And he liked not having to piss only a few feet away from Rick._

_Was he a snob?_

_Nah, he decided, throwing a subtle glare at Rick. He tripped over a pile of bones, and decided to blame Rick for that too, just because the old bastard deserved it. Rick was just being a stupid genius, as usual._

_“Ha!” Rick crowed, slapping Morty on the back, retreating faster than he normally would have otherwise. Not that Morty noticed. Or cared. Or would think on it later that night as he and Rick fell asleep behind a pile of crates, overwhelmed by home-sickness and the stench of the blood that had stained his clothes. “Deal with it, idiot.”_

* * *

So, really, it was all Rick’s fault that he was in this situation.

And it was probably his fault that Morty was even attracted to those weird, muffled, stupid, _somehow strangely hot_ noises to begin with! Rick was the one that introduced him to space, which probably inspired this problem. Somehow.

But… Morty was the one getting turned on by people probably engaging in a hug or fight or something that his tiny planetary just couldn’t comprehend, and he was just taking it sexually because… of his childhood? Was that how it worked? Yeah, he decided, that sounded like something a psychiatrist would tell him. Blah, blah, blah, porn addiction, blah, blah, blah, brain stuff.

“Uhhhh,” Morty huffed out a deep breath, and squirmed slightly. Fuck, this was bad. This was so, so bad. He tried to to think about something not sexy--but he was exhausted, and slightly traumatised, and something smelled good under the apocalypse smells of burned flesh and rot, like cigarettes and deodorant.

It was nice, somehow, and he suddenly understood why all the girls at school would go on about the smell of something as arguably gross as cigarettes. He tried to come up with an original thought, he really did, but his mind was broken from the last ordeal he was forced to suffer through, and he was forced to sit through the consequences as he hardened even more.

He bunched his shirt in his fingers, bringing his feet up to rest on the chair in what he hoped was a casual move, effectively shielding himself from any potential witnesses.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it would go away by itself; it _had_ to. Morty had no idea when the meeting with the mystery person was but, judging by the relative consistency of the noises being made, it would be a while yet.

The dried blood on his skin was chafing slightly, and he was itching to take a shower for more than one reason.

He wanted to turn the water on, and ignore the blood swirling down the drain with practiced ease, and squirt some of Summer’s nice conditioner into his palm, before his hand could slip _down_.

That was the wrong thing to be thinking about, apparently, and he really should have seen that coming.

“Shut the fuck up, _Morty_ ,” Rick was looking at the wall again, and he must have been getting irritated by the noises, if he was snapping at Morty for breathing. “Your annoying little--your little pubescent voice is getting on my nerves.”

A particularly loud crash sounded, and Rick sighed a sigh that was too obnoxious to be based on any real emotion. Morty, meanwhile, was fighting back his adventure instincts that were telling him to _run, hide, duck, shoot,_ the overwhelming negativity of it all doing nothing to quell the half-chub in his pants that he was trying to hide. Why was this happening to him? What did he do in a past life that lead to him being treated like this by fate?

“Rick, what if the guy we’re meant to be meeting--what if he’s, like, being killed? What do we do?!”

Sometimes Morty needed reminding that he was a dumb piece of shit, but he didn’t really understand why Rick was giving him the _‘oh my God, Morty, you absolute moron, how are you so incompetent’_ glare this time. It was a valid question!

“Just shut _up,_ Morty, or I’ll actually shoot you,” Rick said, standing up. He brushed off his own stained and bloody clothes, his eyebrow raising as he stared down at Morty’s lap for just a brief moment. “I’m going to go take a dump.”

Then he was stalking down the seemingly endless hall, long legs falling into a steady stride that Morty wasn’t able to achieve at that moment because of his issues with height. And confidence. And probably a million other reasons.

And Morty felt inadequate. Rick was so all-encompassing, so much larger than life, and it was like he had noticed that Morty wasn’t like that. Maybe he was disappointed that he had to settle with Morty as a sidekick instead of someone like Summer--he pressed his head against his knees at the thought, and tried to usher away the headache that was threatening, a storm cloud on the horizon.

Maybe Rick was mad because he had missed something obvious.

Maybe the people in the other room weren’t even fighting or anything, Morty thought, feeling stupid as he tried to focus on anything but the arousal buried deep in his stomach. Maybe that was just what it sounded like when their species talked.

Planetary mindset indeed.

_And he was the one getting off to it._

He really was the pervert that everyone always accused him of being, wasn’t he? 

Because of the _unfortunate incidents_ that occurred during the time that Morty and Balthromaw were soul-bonded, Morty had been showering more. He had been thinking more and, as Rick used to always say whenever Morty said something along those lines, that was dangerous. So much of everything he did revolved around sexual stuff, to the point where owning a dragon somehow turned into one of his most unspeakable adventures.

And Rick had been mad at him for it. Rick had chosen to go and help _Jerry_ over Morty, and that shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, but it was an unavoidable fact. Rick had been disgusted by the dragon that Morty chose, even though he participated in his fair share of weird shit, and he couldn’t even be bothered to stick around and see how Morty felt after being put through all of that.

He shouldn’t have expected him to, of course; he was a _Rick,_ after all, but for Morty’s dad?

And he had been so dismissive then too, leaving Morty to deal with the persistent nagging of a fucking dragon, an animal that could eat him in one chomp if it wanted to, with only the barest amount of any emotion or meaning in his words at all.

Morty… didn’t understand.

He supposed he should be more used to the feeling, but he still got the weird pangs in his chest that reminded him of when he was little and had asthma, and the teachers made him play sports anyway. There were a few instances where that happened, and just the one ambulance trip--that they blamed Morty, the six year old, for because he didn’t explain the severity of his condition well enough.

He’d probably laugh about it when he got older, but those same feelings of panic, and fear, and worry, and frustration danced beneath his stained skin, so close to the surface that he felt like they could tear through his flesh like paper at any moment, and add his blood to the gory mix that covered his body.

There was something happening, he could feel it; something had changed, and not just with Rick, and he could only sense what it was in the slightest of ways. Before he knew Rick well, he would have assumed that Rick would have picked up on it as well, but Rick wasn’t great at picking up clues. Sure, he could hear an enemy from a mile away with his enhancements, and his paranoia was renowned, but when it came to feeling things, Morty was always ahead of him.

It wasn’t exactly something he wanted to advertise to Rick, and not just for the obvious reasons of not wanting to trigger Rick’s uncontrollable inferiority and superiority complexes; but because it was nice to have something for his own.

Rick would just try and one-up him if he bragged about it, and would probably spend extra time actively trying to take it _away_ from Morty.

So, yeah; he’d rather keep it as his secret weapon.

So he’d just take in how things had changed, try and categorise the new and the old, try and focus on his feelings (as complicated as they were sometimes), and try and focus on Rick’s feelings a little more too (as difficult as he made it). He had no doubt that, whatever it was, it was because of Rick’s problems with addressing some hidden feelings.

Or maybe it actually was because of Morty’s intelligence, like he had thought before, and his lack of intelligence (the reason that Rick wouldn’t want to be around him) was the reason he thought he could sense emotional changes and turmoil.

Was thinking supposed to hurt?

Well, based on what Morty knew about Rick, he _guessed_ that it made sense that thinking was difficult for everyone to cope with. That was probably why Rick was always so angry and temperamental. Then again, that might just be the alcoholism.

Life would be so much easier without the ‘ _then again’_ s _._

 _Thump, thump, thump,_ went the noises, and Morty was barely aware enough to pay it any attention, lost almost entirely inside his own mind without Rick there to remind him that his thoughts didn’t matter. Maybe there was a lot to think about as a teenager--he had seen people with the same speculating face that he could feel himself pulling--but his thoughts couldn’t help but stray to where he was _sure_ no other teenager’s had.

Sure, he knew that people could think about their grandparents. Even though he spent more time with his grandfather than he did his parents or any classmates, he knew it wouldn’t be considered normal for him to think about them as often as he did Rick, or in the same kind of manner.

It was stuff that was just normal to Morty: laying alone in his bed and wondering if Rick would be experimenting on him while he slept that night, or sitting in class and wondering when Rick would stop by to spirit him away from school and normal life. It wasn’t weird, it was just _them._ It was just Rick and Morty, forever and ever, for a hundred years.

Even if it made his heart twinge the slightest, tiniest bit, to realise that Rick would never think about him as much as Morty thought about him, he was--slowly but surely--beginning to accept it.

Maybe he shouldn’t--he could just imagine what any self-respecting therapist would say about their relationship--but what else could he do?

...He could stop begging Rick to take him out on adventures.

* * *

_“Rick, c’mon!” Morty pleaded, his hands clasped under his chin like he was praying. “Those other adventures sucked, and you--you kind of shut down after them, okay? I know that you have stuff y-you need to do, so let’s do that!”_

_Rick groaned, hunched over his project like he had been for the last two days. His stubble had grown out and his sweater was covered in an honestly disturbing amount of stains--from liquor, oil, and possibly an explosion if the scorch marks were anything to go by. He didn’t even look at Morty, though, when he answered. “M-morty, I don’t have the patience to explain why that’s a ho-URGHH-rrible idea. Go jack off and--and maybe you’ll get an epiphany or something. Leave me alone.”_

_Why did Morty even bother? He didn’t quite know the answer to that question, but he still snatched the new bottle of bourbon from Rick’s hands._

_“Morty!” Rick fumbled for it, but Morty took a step back. If Rick wanted to get drunk and stupid, then he could deal with the consequences of that; uncoordination being one. “You--you little bitch! Come on, give--give grandpa his drink back.”_

_“One adventure,” Morty said, waving the bottle enticingly. It was almost funny to watch how Rick’s eyes tracked its movement, like a cat watching a feather on a string before it made up the decision to lunge for it. “I--” he couldn’t tell or trust Rick with anything when he was like this. “Let’s get you sobered up, and we can just go on a classic Rick and Morty adventure, okay? Then you can have the bottle.”_

_Drunk Rick didn’t even think twice; his ability to weigh long term and short term benefits was severely limited by the prospect of alcohol. “You’re going to regret that, Morty,” Rick said, standing up--only wobbling a little--from his rickety chair. Morty backed up, still holding the bottle, and Rick followed him._

_Morty probably would; Rick didn’t let many things get in the way of him and his booze. The last time he had gone on a bender, Summer tried to sneak a bottle because she thought he wouldn’t miss it--Morty hadn’t been happy when he was forced to not only force Rick to take a nap (“Summer--she’s a--a--I don’t know, she’s just a--UGH!”), and also disarm the hastily made bomb that Rick had shoved in her backpack. She had found it nearly immediately, because he wrote a very sloppy note telling her that it was there and why._

_Morty led him up to the bathroom, running into his mom on the stairs. She raised an eyebrow, a bottle of wine in her own hand that she promptly tucked behind her back before Rick caught a glimpse of it._

_Morty just rolled his eyes._

_He led Rick to the bathroom and started running the water. He had thankfully managed to toss the bottle into the trash, and brushed Summer’s makeup off the counter to cover it before Rick remembered how to open the door._

_Rick, pouting because of the loss of the bottle, stripped his sweater off, dropping it onto the floor carelessly. His wife beater soon followed, which was fine--until Morty held the tell-tale sound of a belt unbuckling, and a zipper being unzipped._

_He froze._

_Rick was really drunk… what if he needed help? Maybe Morty should stay…_

_Rick stumbled getting his pants off, and Morty saw them get kicked into his field of vision. No, he couldn’t stay! That was a dumb idea--why did he even think of it in the first place?_

_“I’ll-see-you-soon-gotta-go-bye!” Morty squeaked, tripping over his own two feet as he scrambled for the door._

_He could have sworn Rick said something after he left--mostly grumbling, and slightly incoherent--but he couldn’t hear anything over the fire in his cheeks._

_Hopefully Rick would actually pay attention to him on this adventure._

* * *

He had ended up regretting that thoroughly, hadn’t he?

He came back to himself, brushing the memory and all of its confusing, stupid emotions aside, only to find Rick eyeing him strangely, eyes darting down once, then twice, until Morty looked down and--

Oh no. _Fuck._

Somehow, Morty had been able to do what he had never really tried to before, and had managed to ignore the urge that had risen up to _rut into his own hand, to stroke his hand over his balls and tug gently at his length, picking up the pace until he was desperate_ _and aching for release,_ but his distraction from his predicament hadn’t caused it to dissipate.

Morty’s erection jutted out as much as it could in its denim prison, the fabric tented in a very, very noticeable way, and he balked.

“Rick!” he said, pulling his shirt down to cover himself, his face feeling so suddenly flushed and feverish that he wouldn’t be surprised if he burst into flames on the spot. Or passed out, judging based on the fact that breathing was becoming more and more difficult as his lungs struggled to function through the panic he could feel overtaking him. “I’m--it’s not what you think! I just--I was--”

His stuttering was made worse by the humiliation that was turning his vision blurry, and the urge that overtook him that told him to cower under Rick’s stare.

Rick was _confusing._

He wasn’t laughing, or yelling, or doing anything else that Morty might have expected him to--instead Rick pointedly looked away, his expression blank and unreadable. It filled Morty up with relief as much as it concerned him, and the warring emotions inside of him were enough to force his blush to recede slightly.

He wanted to say something--but he was angry at Rick, at himself, at the fact that he could never just be _normal_ or even _cool_ about his sexuality like some people were. Jessica, especially, had recently become more open about her preference, and that her preference wore a skirt.

Morty, shockingly, didn’t see it as an excuse to be an even bigger creep or think about threesomes and then hate himself for being a weirdo.

Instead, he just realised the moment she walked into class holding Stacey’s hand, their fingers entwined loosely, the both of them looking pretty and happy and gentle, that he didn’t like her anymore. He didn’t know if he ever really liked her to begin with, because he felt… nothing. No regrets, anger, lust, anything like that. He felt happy for her, sure, but aside from that he was fine. 

And after everything that happened with that fucking dragon, after everything he had gone through that he wasn’t supposed to talk about out loud, lest he risk alerting mom that their adventures could be considered controversial, or risk pissing off Rick, he was conflicted.

He stole a look at Rick, at his lips that were pulled into a half-frown, at his strong jaw, and he looked away.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to want anymore.

“C’mon, Morty,” Rick said gruffly, hand pawing at his flask as he turned his back on Morty, who wasn’t sure whether or not the feeling that settled in his stomach alongside the slight arousal was disappointment or gratefulness. “Let’s go--we need to put this egotistical asshole in his place.”

Morty really didn’t want anyone to see him in his current state, but he trailed along after Rick dutifully anyway.

He also didn’t want to interrupt the conversation between the guy they were supposed to be meeting, and the other random… alien? Even thinking about it had shame settling on his shoulders like a weighted blanket; he now had to put a face to the thing that his perverted, twisted body had taken advantage of, and he wasn’t ready for the eventual breakdown he would have over it later.

Thankfully, it was the continuous thoughts of someone seeing him in that position again that killed his _too fucking persistent_ boner, at least to the point where it wasn’t immediately noticeable. Morty sighed, his fingers still clenching his shirt as Rick murmured to himself outside the door of the office, pacing all the while. He couldn’t quite make out the words--if they even were in english, because Rick liked to slip into all of the many languages he frequented, just because he knew Morty couldn’t understand--but he tried to despite himself. 

_“Too--glebfurnk, juokuh--Morty, iknjno sheloq ghoruh--”_

Rick said Morty’s name a lot during adventures, and Morty couldn’t help but assume that it was largely because his intelligence--or lack thereof--got them into more trouble than it got them out of. Or maybe he had just learned to replace cursing with Morty’s name; that was what his mom had done when she heard Summer say ‘fuck’ for the first time (age seven); she told her to say Peter instead, and that was that.

Morty still cried--because he was a toddler, dammit!--when Summer called him a Peting Peter for Peter’s sake, when he ate one of her legos. Sometimes, he didn't know whether or not he loved or hated his family.

Then again, Morty wasn’t that stupid. He could be really good at persuasive speeches when the time called for it, or at least he was better than Rick at them; if only because Rick’s speeches were depressing, deprecating, or a cocktail of bullshit.

It was true, and Morty would say that straight to his face.

...No he wouldn’t. Only if Rick said something first, and deliberately tried to wind Morty up, like an ass.

“Are we going to go in or not?” Morty asked, a little nervous but ready to have this shit-show of an adventure over and done with as soon as possible. “I mean--what are we waiting for, Rick?”

Rick cocked his head, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. For a split second there was quiet as Rick stopped his rambling, and Morty stopped breathing in order to properly hear what he had in mind to do. “L-ladies first,” Rick said nastily, finally, gesturing mockingly to the door.

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

“I don’t know…”

Rick scoffed loudly, like he had never heard anything so ridiculous in his entire life. “I know you don’t, Morty, but just--just open the fucking door, okay?”

Opening the door wouldn’t _kill_ him, would it? Was that why Rick was trying to get him to go first, so he could avoid the unavoidable death, by using Morty as a literal meat shield over just a brainwave one? The Morty from a few months ago would have (hesitantly) said no. He would have gone over his every interaction with Rick, and point out the proof of Rick giving a shit, and basked in the feeling of validation.

But Rick had been so distant, to the point where Morty was (almost) afraid for his life as he reached for the big brass doorknob, fingers trembling as they settled upon it gingerly. 

At least the knob didn’t burn his fingers off, like he had seen in a movie somewhere. Thank the lord for small mercies.

The noises got louder as the door inched open, Rick behind him and still managing to look more confident and brave than Morty, the person who was actually taking whatever possible risk there was when it came to opening the door.

The door opened all the way when Rick kicked it open, seemingly impatient with Morty’s slower than a snail approach.

“I fucking knew it!” Rick crowed, stalking forward while Morty struggled to even see what was going on. The light from the hallway was leaking into the strangely dark room, and his eyes were taking their time adjusting until he could actually see what he and Rick had stumbled across. “You fucking _whore!_ ”

The room was big and had a large, solid oak table in the centre of it, but that wasn’t all that caught Morty’s attention: no, what Morty was focused on was the Rick _on_ said table, and the terrifyingly large tentacle monster behind him that was buried deep in his ass, growling in the same voice that Morty had heard what seemed like hours ago.

For a second, time stood still. 

The alien that had been plowing into an alternate version of his _grandfather_ stilled his thrusts, the tentacles that were in RIck’s ass, his mouth, encircling his cock slowing to a stop while the Rick let out a muffled grunt. It wasn’t english, Morty could tell that much even with the strange sound of his heart thumping in his ears, drowning out the logic that told him to avert his eyes and escape before something bad happened.

The alien, clearly responding to whatever it was that the Rick had said, started up his thrusts again and, just like that, the moment was lost to the obscene squelching and moaning, and Morty was thrown back into his mind.

“Oh my God!” Morty yelled, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Oh jeez, oh jeez, what the fuck? Rick, what the fuck?”

“Shut the fuck up, Morty!” Rick, his Rick, said from beside him, sounding more passionate about his words than he had in months, and Morty couldn’t even bring himself to be grateful because this was--this was what he had been trying to avoid.

This was Rick, and this was sex, and this wasn’t right, or good, but Morty could feel his pants tightening and he knew, in that exact moment, he was _fucked._

 _Not as fucked as that Rick, though,_ the cruel voice in his head cackled, and Morty muffled his moan of despair.

“Don’t shame me!” said the other Rick from across the room, voice hoarse and strained. He then spat out some more words in the same garbled language that Morty had heard before and, despite Morty clearly knowing better, his arm moved on its own accord, and his unobscured vision let him see the alien thrum in excitement, pressing itself flush against the other Rick’s stomach, obscuring the large, swollen cock-- _oh fucking Jesus--_ that had been visible just a second earlier.

If Morty had seen the alien in any other situation, he might have even considered it cute--it reminded him of a squid, or an octopus, but with one wide pink eye, and curled horns that looked almost out of place on its sleek, red, shark-like skin. But here, now, he could only watch in horrified silence as the creature lurched forward, forcing the other Rick to spread his legs more, wrapping them around the creature as his eyes rolled back into his head.

Morty stumbled away, but Rick--his Rick, he had to remind himself as his gaze slipped back to the scene in front of him--caught him by the shoulders, talking in his ear as he took in the scene in all of its explicit detail.

“That’s a Glumpfhur, Morty,” Rick said, and Morty couldn’t help but notice how bright and eager his eyes were when he dared to look up, to see how Rick felt about the mess they had stumbled across. “They only mate with a mammal once a year, and that’s when they lay their eggs. The whole species is male, Morty--they choose random mammals they stumble across as hosts, and that’s how they’re born.”

Holy fuck. There was no way this was happening--Morty was going to wake up, and be embarrassed and ashamed, and unable to make eye contact with Rick over breakfast, because this was a freaky sex nightmare. 

_“It’s going to lay its freaking eggs in him?!”_ Morty whisper-shrieked, trying to ignore the obscene _squish-squelch_ of what he assumed was lube with the same amount of success as someone attempting to ignore a car crash that happened next to them on the highway. “Rick, I don’t--I’m so--”

“Yeah,” Rick didn’t miss a beat, and Morty nearly lurched forward and the breathlessness of his voice. “Yeah, it feels amazing, Morty--there’s a rush of chemicals from its semen, Morty, and it gets you all high and relaxed, and then he drops them deep in your gut, Morty, and it sinks deeper and deeper until you can barely stand it, and then...”

What the fuck was Morty feeling? His head hurt, and his brain wanted him to stop looking at the Rick who was moaning and talking in that strange, strange language, and stop listening to _his_ Rick who was still talking about something that Morty had never wanted to know before-

He wanted everything to just pause for one freaking second, and he could have managed that on his own but his head wasn’t turning away and his eyes weren’t squinting shut, and the rush of hormones wasn’t cutting off like it was supposed to-

He couldn’t breathe. 

Was this what dying felt like?

“Breathe, _Jesus,_ Morty,” Rick said, louder than he should have, because the other Rick snapped his head to the side, staring directly at them, and his cheeks were pink and Morty really needed to _leave._ “It’s natural--well, not really, but it’s not the weirdest shit you’ve seen grandpa do.”

Like hell it wasn’t.

“Shut the fuck _up,_ ” the other Rick groaned, grunting slightly as the thick-- _holy fucking christ how was that fitting in him_ \--tentacle pulsed, a strange light moving through the length of it, down, down, down, into the Rick. “I won’t be that much longer, you impatient--oh, fuck, _yes, right there_ \--you fuckers.”

And the Rick turned his gaze on Morty, eyes bleary and half fucked out, and somehow still so scathing and judgemental, like he could see through Morty and all of the half-assed fantasies that surrounded the one thing Morty truly wanted, and Morty’s breath hitched in his throat.

He had to leave.

He had to--to go splash water on his face, and curse Rick out for being so fucking shameless, and hate himself for where his thoughts would wander, because Rick had seen him hard, and Morty had seen a Rick hard, and he had gotten hard because of a Rick-

“I gotta--I gotta leave,” Morty said, pulling away from Rick’s hold, and not thinking about how this was the most open Rick had been with him in forever and a half. Rick looked disappointed for half a second, before his expression smoothed over, and a dangerous smile played on his face. 

“Alright,” Rick said, eyes scanning Morty. “All too adult for you, huh? I--I get it, Morty, it’s okay.” And it would have been nice if it wasn’t so fucking condescending, and Morty would have said something in response if his throat wasn’t drier than a desert, and if the Rick getting fucked wasn’t still breathing heavily--and, if Rick was to be believed--as eggs slid from the tentacles inside him to settle low in his stomach somewhere, and Morty could just imagine the feeling--no!

It shouldn’t have been so hard to leave, but he felt vulnerable and exposed without Rick, like every emotion he was experiencing had been left unguarded and unprotected, like everyone would be able to look at him and know that he was lower than dirt, and know what he had forced himself to admit.

He liked Rick.

He didn’t like him in the way other people did, bringing him science gizmos or booze or drugs; he didn’t like Rick because he expected miracles or money, he liked him because he had seen how Rick had been with Balthromaw that first time, had seen how his face had slackened and how his entire body had been shaking like a leaf on the wind. Morty liked him, because Rick had asked him to stay--and it had been hurtful at the time, a real betrayal, but when he calmed down all he could think about was how Rick had let him stay.

Rick had let him stay when he was soul-bonding, and it had still been special and sexual, even if he wasn’t undressed, and Morty had watched--he had nothing better to do in those few seconds, before the anger and frustration took over him, and now Morty had a comparison.

He had seen Rick--even if it wasn’t his Rick--having _sex._

He hadn’t been jacking off, or--or soul-bonding, or any other stupid thing, and maybe he was being stupid for not pushing it out of mind entirely, for not locking it away in the treasure-chest in his brain of private and precious memories, but what else was he supposed to do? Morty ducked into the bathroom, and he almost sobbed as he collapsed on a toilet seat, his entire body shaking with adrenaline and terror (that Rick would find out, that Rick would see how much he meant to Morty, what seeing him like that _did_ to Morty).

The truth was simple, yet it was still hard to understand: the half-chub that he had managed to will almost out of existence was back in full-force.

What did that fucking mean for him?

Before, there hadn’t been proof that he liked Rick--a stray dream, maybe, but that was to be expected with how much time they spent together, and the fact that he had been truly, legitimately hurt that Rick hadn’t paid him any mind when he saw Morty’s erection. It had just been him overthinking, before, misinterpreting his familial relationship with Rick as sexual because he was just _stupid,_ but now...

“No,” Morty said under his breath, his hands clasped to the side of his head in the classic _I’m freaking the fuck out_ look, his eyes watering even more. “No, no, no-”

He was sick.

And a horrifying thought struck him--what if Rick had noticed, and that was why he let Morty go? Rick couldn’t know, he couldn’t know that Morty had been trying so hard to forget about everything that had happened (because it didn’t matter to Rick, even though it did to _him_ ), only to figure out that he couldn’t deny it. Rick had seen him with a hard-on, and he had looked away--and if it were one of Morty’s shameful subconscious fantasies, Rick wouldn’t have been able to tear his eyes away.

Maybe that was why he was so upset over Rick seeing him like that, his erection trapped under his jeans, his palms sweaty; because Rick’s reaction was proof that he didn’t care.

And now Morty was forced to admit that he cared that Rick didn’t.

“What the fuck, Mortimer?” and he was talking to himself, daring to look in the mirror. He only managed to look at his teary, red, frightened reflection for a moment, before being forced to drop his gaze. “Just--just think about naked grandmas, and wrinkles, and gross shit.”

But Morty didn’t start thinking about grandmas, he started thinking about grandpas. 

And the thought of wrinkles, of Rick doing _gross shit like getting fucked in the ass by tentacles, like he was a character in a fucking hentai,_ didn’t make him shy away, or gag.

It made him…

His stomach ached as he struggled to swallow his feelings, every nasty thought and emotion sinking down to grapple with his intestines. “You’re disgusting,” he told himself frankly, still teary eyed and humiliated, every breath not filling his lungs properly. “God, I--I’m so fucked, I can’t-”

He was so strung up that finishing a sentence properly seemed like a herculean task, and he had no idea what he was going to do. He had to come up with--with a plan, a really good one, so that things would be perfect and normal, and Rick would be distant but that was okay as long as he didn’t find out.

Firstly, he needed to wash his face. He got splotchy when he cried, his nose and ears a ruddy colour that clashed horribly with his t-shirt, and Rick would know immediately if he saw it.

The water on whatever planet they were on--and, hey, that was right, Rick had told him that they were in their dimension and just off-planet, the fucking liar--was a light green that reminded him of Mountain Dew, and he half expected it to make his face sticky and disgusting.

It didn’t, thankfully, but he was struck by the realisation that he had a blindfold tied around his eyes every time he went somewhere with Rick. 

Rick was blinded by his intelligence and Morty was blinded by Rick, and every time Rick lied to him the jagged, bleeding wound on his heart started weeping anew because _he didn’t have anyone to trust._

With all the shit they went through together on a regular basis, he just wanted Rick to tell him the truth--he just wanted to feel equal to Rick, even if it only was just with the knowledge of where they were at any given time, or how he could get home if Rick did what he sometimes threatened or warned, and _died._

He couldn’t think like that, though.

He patted his face dry with his shirt, waving at his face with his hands and feeling more and more like the main character in a teenage drama every passing second.

He needed his _list,_ he needed something to stick to so he wouldn’t lose his mind to the uncertainty that plagued him with every step he took.

Secondly, he needed to find a way to just… _avoid_ Rick for a while so that he wouldn’t be able to tell that something was off, and so Morty had some private time to collect himself, without adventures that kept him from helping himself out, or Rick accidentally driving a splinter into their already fracturing relationship.

As much as Morty wanted to pretend it wasn’t, his feelings for Rick--they were ruining him. 

He was probably the reason Rick stopped interacting with him; because he looked for too long once, trying to figure out what the thrumming of his chest meant, and this whole situation was just proving that right.

He couldn’t handle it.

 _The list,_ he reminded himself, only slightly harshly. 

Thirdly, he needed to-

“ _Morty_!”

Morty balked, his eyes opening wide and whatever was left of his blush receding faster than what should have been humanly possible. Rick was here? Morty hadn’t really thought about whether or not Rick would have to squash down his own arousal at the unexpected, and (only somewhat) unwanted show they had been privy to, and he frowned.

Of course not. Even Rick, one of the more sexually active and explicit people that Morty knew, hadn’t gotten turned on. How could Morty have even entertained a thought that suggested otherwise? 

But Morty on the other hand…

He scrambled to get into a stall, refusing to let Rick see him like that again--it was bad enough that the sounds the other Rick and the alien had been making had turned him on in the first place, but if Rick saw that he was back to his original dilemma, he would know for sure. 

“Leave me alone, Rick!” Morty yelled, shrill and scared, and so suspicious that even he was wondering if he was hiding something--and he knew for a fact that he was. “I just need time to--to process that stuff, you know? I’ll be out soon, I just need some space.”

Rick scoffed, and Morty could actually hear the quotation marks around the words as Rick spoke, “Uh-huh, sure. Yeah, _‘time’,_ and, _‘space’,_ of course.”

Why was Rick paying attention to him _now_ ? Why was he only there for Morty at the most inconvenient times? The third--and probably the most important thing on his fucking list that should have come first, why was he so _stupid_ \--thing he needed to do was get rid of his fucking erection and pretend that, if he was affected at all, it was that the sight of his grandpa getting fucked made him go completely soft instead.

“Rick!” Morty buried his face in his hands, feeling the tears pricking at his eyes again but his cock remained embarrassingly, impossibly hard. Was he diseased or something? It should have gone away by now! “Please! I’m being serious, c’mon.”

“I know you’re being serious, Morty,” Rick paced, and Morty tracked his shoes and their movement across the large tiles, the harsh slapping of his too-heavy strides making him flinch every time he got too close to the door. Why did this confrontation need to be happening in a bathroom, he despaired, before remembering that the universe really didn’t care about him. “A--a serious _dipshit,_ Morty, what the fuck? What, like you’ve never seen--never watched hentai? I’ve seen your search history, Morty-”

“Rick, I said not to--not to check that!”

“- _And,”_ Rick continued like Morty hadn’t even spoken at all, and Morty continued to suffer through his mini rant, “it’s not like it’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen grandpa do! You’ve been a big crybaby recently, Morty, always saying _‘oh, Rick, I don’t think I want to dive off this cliff, why don’t you?’_ or _‘I know I broke an invention you spent a lot of time on, but I don’t want to make it up to you this time’_ or _‘I want to act like a little bitch in front of another Rick, just to embarrass you’._ ”

Oh. So this was about pride. Morty would never, ever be able to admit that Rick’s mocking impressions of him hurt him, but they stung at him all the same, and he wondered how he could ever like someone so _mean._

That was what Rick was--it shouldn’t have been an epiphany, but Morty saw the truth with the kind of clarity he rarely had because of his unfortunate sleeping habits.

“You acted like a little bitch in front of another _Rick,_ Morty.” Rick said, and his feet turned to face the stall door, so frighteningly still that Morty couldn’t tear his eyes away from them lest he miss something important. “We don’t care what they think, but you’re like--we’re meant to be better than them, Morty, not worse.”

“Having emotions isn’t worse, Rick!” Morty yelled, even though he knew that Rick didn’t see the world like that. “Wanting to give people--aliens--whatever privacy while they fuck isn’t worse, Rick!”

Rick was silent for just a second before he retorted, sounding immature and stuck up, like the brat Morty knew he could be sometimes--though effortlessly ruder, with a more vulgar vocabulary.

“Don’t act like you didn’t see this coming, you little perv!” 

“I didn’t! I didn’t!”

And then Rick burst into another angry rant that Morty could barely hear over the clamouring of his own thoughts.

How was Morty supposed to know? Rick always called him stupid, and gullible, and a whole bunch of other words that Morty didn’t actually understand but he knew they meant dumb, but Rick expected him to just _know_ stuff like this? He expected Morty to be able to predict shit like he could, with his stupid brain, and his stupid gadgets, and Morty was always the one to suffer for it-

His next sob was louder, and he could feel the change in the environment as Rick’s breathing quietened, and his angry, demeaning persona was dropped like a hot potato. He stopped cursing, and Morty scolded himself internally, covering his face with his arm. “Morty,” Rick started, hesitantly. “Are you… crying?”

“No,” Morty sniffled, and then slapped his hand over his mouth and nose. He had really, really given himself away this time--his eyes burning from the strain that came from trying to get the tears that had already escaped to start the upward climb back into his tear ducts. It was impossible, but he may as well try anyway, right? He cleared his throat. “I mean, no.”

Rick sighed a sigh so deep that Morty could feel it rattle in his bones. “I’m coming in,” he said after what felt like an eternity, and Morty felt his heart leap into his throat, choking briefly on it before it could begin its quick descent to the bottom of his stomach.

“No! Please, Rick!”

Rick’s feet moved closer anyway, and Morty leaped up only to discover that he had nowhere to go. The walls of the stall got so close to the floor on the sides that he couldn’t possibly wriggle under them, and they were high as well; clearly designed for someone a lot taller and wider than a human, which only left Morty with one option: he’d have to go under the door--which had more room to slide under, probably so it wouldn’t get caught on any tails or anything; Rick had taught him that about alien bathrooms a long time ago.

“Then come out, Morty!” Rick, despite the fact he was using the voice he used when he was trying to come off as sweet and kind (normally to Morty’s mom, but sometimes Morty when he really fucked up and upset him), was beginning to sound more and more annoyed, which was honestly fair.

It wasn’t like Rick could read his mind and find out why he had been acting like such a spaz recently--he just had to put up with the consequences and end results, which wasn’t fair on him either.

But still! Rick couldn’t see him like this, Morty refused to even think about the possibility of Rick somehow, maybe, even a little bit, catching a glimpse of him in this moment, where his face was wet and his eyes were red, and his boner was still, somehow, outrageously persistent.

Maybe that was because Rick’s annoyed voice was playing on a loop in his head, the rough, alcohol messy words made more impactful by the way the other Rick had looked at him; needy and horny and desperate, and lacking the sexual power that Morty always saw Rick wielding in those kinds of situations. Sure, Morty had seen Rick in bondage more than anyone should ever see their grandparents in bondage, but he had still been in control; of his emotions, of the situation…

But that Rick had looked undone, and Morty couldn’t get it out of his head.

Morty crouched down, raking his shaking fingers through his hair from stress; at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if he started balding from the amount of emotional and mental distress he felt on a day-to-day basis.

“I can’t come out, Rick,” Morty’s voice broke on every word, and he cursed his stupid teenage hormones, and the stupid exhaustion, and the stupid abstinence he had been forced to take upon so he couldn’t get himself off. “I’m--”

Rick’s head thudded loudly against the wooden door of the stall, reverberating through the large, tiled room. “I don’t care about whatever your pussy self is afraid of me knowing, Morty,” he said tiredly, shuffling his feet. “I want to go home as much as you do so--you need to tell me what’s up with you, or you need to just put it in a mental box that you blow up.”

Either way, Morty knew he wasn’t getting much of a choice when it came to leaving the stall. 

It was natural, he assured himself as he stood up, pulling anxiously at the hem of his shirt once more. Rick, of all people, would understand. Unlocking the door, actively making the decision to go against every rational thought in his head just to obey Rick, had to be the most difficult thing he had ever done. Sure, the task seemed simple enough, but it felt like Morty was playing Jenga; and, if he moved this slot, the others would all come down around it and he would lose.

Morty was used to Rick coming out on top (like, all the time) but that didn’t mean he liked it.

The door pushed open slowly, the creak and whine of the hinges the only noise in the room as Rick stood as still as a statue, and Morty shuffled out like a zombie.

Even though he hadn’t used the bathroom, instinct guided Morty to the sink and he went through the process of mechanically washing his hands, his eyes glued to the Mountain Dew water and his back facing Rick because it was easier than meeting him head-on.

He looked up at the mirror once, cringing at his own reflection--but the thing that really made him look away, to hunch in and avert his eyes, was the way he saw Rick looking at him.

He looked thoughtful; calculating and piercing, like he had been delivered a prize on a platter, but Morty couldn’t quite see it--or comprehend it--yet, and he would be a good liar if he could convince himself that the idea of playing this game with Rick, of dancing the dance, didn’t strike a wishful chord.

He really did enjoy the adventures, and how sometimes Rick looked at him afterwards like he was a puzzle to solve instead of an open book, but he just _couldn’t_ at the moment.

“Are we--do we still have to go to the meeting?” Morty asked, not sure if he really wanted to hear the answer or not. He had a feeling he already knew, and he didn’t want his suspicions confirmed, that was for sure, but he had asked the question and Rick was quick to deliver. 

“Yep,” Rick drew out the word, popping the ‘p’, still standing stiff behind Morty in the mirror. Morty knew that he had to have seen what had made Morty hide away in the first place, but his calm was so fragile that he decided to think that Rick had missed it. “Are you--you doin’ alright, Morty? You’ve been acting weird, that’s all I’m trying to say, you know, dawg? Wassupppp?”

“I’m fine,” Morty said, and it was a poor disguise for the fact that he was, quite decidedly, not fine. Still, bad habits die hard; Morty in particular had a bad record when it came to keeping his buried.

What Rick didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him (or Morty); that was just the way the cookie crumbled, after all. 

“Nah,” said Rick, and he stalked closer, the predator stalking the prey and Morty wished that he wasn’t stuck to the spot like a quivering deer in headlights. “I don’t like shit fucking up my work, Morty. You need to just tell me so I can fix it. ‘Kay?”

There was a subtle edge to Rick’s voice that only people who really knew him could pick up on; it was barely there, really, but Morty knew that he wasn’t asking a question, or offering to help him--he was demanding answers, and if Morty couldn’t meet him headfirst with the answer he wanted, then he would have his dreams invaded and his memory wiped.

Or Rick would just be an even bigger dick until he wore him down into compliance.

“You can’t just _fix_ me whenever you decide there’s something wrong with me, Rick,” Morty said, not even thinking about the words but agreeing with with them all the same. He pulled his shirt down, and still didn’t turn to face Rick who was only half a hair away. “If I say I’m fine, that’s what I am, okay?”

Based on Rick’s face, the answer was no.

His eyebrows drew together, like Morty’s answer had confused him somehow; like he couldn’t even comprehend the fact that Morty wasn’t bound to him soul, mind, and body, and he had violated an unspoken tenant by even questioning that. 

“ _God, Morty_ ,” in a flash, any evidence of Rick’s reaction was erased, his face a blank state for Morty behold in the mirror. “You love to be difficult, don’t you?”

And Morty really was an idiot.

He whirled around, mouth open to accuse Rick of being who he was--an egostistical, self-centred prick, who couldn’t stand the fact that Morty wasn’t a dog for him to control--the blind anger chasing all other feelings and his common sense away, because he was _done_. 

He was done caring about Rick when he clearly didn’t feel the same way, and he was sick of the fact that Rick clearly didn’t think he could go through with any kind of punishment; ignoring him, yelling at him, it didn’t matter because Rick knew he would come crawling back on his hands and knees later.

Rick’s surprised, conflicted, confused look was what clued Morty in on the fact that something might be less than okay about this scenario. Rick was never confused. He was the kind of person that knew what he wanted and took it, because he was Rick Sanchez and that was just how he worked--and Morty and everyone would always accommodate him for that same reason.

But Rick had been weird recently.

Morty was still hiding his arousal as best he could, and for good reason: this was why he wouldn’t leave Rick.

Because sometimes, for no reason at all, he would remind Morty that he wasn’t just augmented parts and cynicism, but he was a person with thoughts and dreams and hopes that didn’t revolve around tearing him down. Sometimes, as horrible as it was, it was just easier to think of Rick as a monster that was out to get him because, well… Morty couldn’t sympathise and love something like that.

But that wasn’t all he was.

“I’m not sorry for--for whatever it was that I did,” Morty said, because as much as he liked (loved) Rick, he had been pushed too far, burnt to a crisp and frostbitten by the hot and cold he had been forced through, and he was throwing the status quo to the wind because it took too much effort to care about it anymore. “I’m not a baby anymore, and I just--I don’t know what you want me to do, Rick. You always change, all the time and--and I can’t keep up with it, so just _stop_.”

Even if it was all his fault, how was he supposed to care when Rick clearly couldn’t decide if he did or didn’t either?

“You had me all fucked up earlier, Morty,” Rick said, sounding pained and truthful; like he could barely believe that he was even telling Morty. If that did anything, it just stoked the fire that had started burning in Morty’s heart, seeping through the cracks and splinters to scorch him too. “You really--I didn’t know, Morty, but now…”

“I only _fuck you up_ when it’s a convenience to you, Rick!” Morty cried, and he rubbed angrily at his eyes--God, he had been holding back for so long, and now it was all coming out, leaking from his eyes and nose. “All the other times, you always say that I--that I don’t affect you, and you always _act_ like you couldn’t give less of a shit, and then you blame me for your feelings anyway! You push me away and away and away, but I’m at the end of my rope, Rick.”

Rick looked taken aback--Morty didn’t know whether or not it was because he was actually telling Rick his feelings (something he had stopped doing ages ago, because Rick only mocked him for every tear and voice crack) or because he was making valid points--and he swallowed loudly.

“Before…” Rick said, looking so utterly taken apart and wrecked that Morty wouldn’t be surprised if he found out that Rick had been snorting coke and K-Lax in the foyer with a side of heroin, and then washed it all down with hard liquor. “Morty, I’m--it was just because I didn’t understand, but I do know, okay? I get it, and I know what’s causing me to be like this, and I can stop it for me too now. And that’ll fix you too, right?”

Rick was very fond of rhetorical questions, but when he was drunk they tended to be sad or angry; Morty was unused to the sincere, euphoric look in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but duck his gaze in response.

Rick wanted to… change? For Morty to not feel the way he had been these last few months?

That didn’t make sense. Morty had known Rick for years; he had been with him through thick and thin, and Rick never--openly--admitted to wanting to change, or wanting to help Morty through moderating his behaviour. He had been close with the Vindicators, but he had just missed the target with that last speech.

But Rick was… he was _Rick._ He was unapologetically himself, and he made people change for him, and that was how it was supposed to be--it wasn’t fair, but neither was life, and neither was Rick--because it was the way things always had been. And if Rick could change now, that meant he had always been able to change and he just hadn’t wanted to because Morty’s bruises and tears and broken bones hadn’t been worth it.

What made Morty worth it now?

“ _Why,_ Rick?” If Morty’s voice broke artistically over the first word, well: Rick had turned him into a talented actor. It would be a shame if he didn’t take advantage over the few talents that Rick had managed to impress on him.

Maybe it was real emotion but, jeez, it was easier to pretend that it wasn’t.

“Morty, don’t you _dare,_ ” Rick looked angry, but Morty knew better. Rick had been angry at the alien that had threatened to tear Morty limb from limb if Rick didn’t give him more product than he had paid for. Rick had looked angry when Morty had broken down after their first week of adventures, calling himself _worthless_ and _not good enough,_ until Rick took him by the shoulders and told him that he was fine and he just needed to grow up.

Morty felt more grown up now than he had all those years ago.

“I will dare!” Morty said, and Rick shrunk away like Morty had cracked open his brain and stolen something from inside. Morty would have said heart if he was in a slightly more poetic mood--but Rick had always valued his brain more, and Morty had never been very good at english as a subject.

“You can’t try and make me--” Rick said, and he was so serious, the look in his eyes so dark that it could have blocked out the sun if they were outside. As it were, Morty would swear that the fluorescent ceiling lights had dimmed slightly anyway. “You can’t just let this shit _out,_ Morty, or it’ll stay that way forever--”

“Until you erase my memory.”

Morty would act more mad about that if Summer hadn’t told him months ago--because she was, quote “ _Sick of guessing whether or not you remember shit, so remember this and don't tell Rick I told_ _, okay?”--_ and if he didn’t know that Rick hadn’t erased his memories in over a year. Yeah, he had checked. Rick, to his credit, only looked the slightest bit surprised that Morty knew.

“Yeah,” Rick said, but the softness in his eyes and the breathiness of the word betrayed him. “Sure. But you don’t want to have this shit on your mind ever, buddy.”

“Rick.” Morty returned, short and stern, and Rick’s eyes drifted up and down his body, tearing him apart by the seams with his eyes, and Morty felt more exposed than he ever had in his life, even by the other Rick who had seen through him entirely. “You--you don’t get a say anymore. You had your chance! You had your chance to act-” not normal, because Rick’s normal was not at all (maybe Morty really was having a stroke), “-to act like _you_ , and you gave that up!”

And that was fair, right? Rick had the chance to act mean, and _Rick-like_ , but still made the choice to just… not.

But… Rick wasn’t mean, Morty realised.

Well, he was, there was no denying that--but Rick, now looked more bashful and ashamed than he did cruel or conniving, and Morty took a hesitant step forward. It had to be bad. It had to be really, really bad, because Rick only looked ashamed when he had feelings. And the kind of things that made Rick have feelings were things like what happened on the Purge Planet (before he jumped in on the murder), or when he tricked Morty into thinking he liked him when it was really just Noob-Noob.

“Just _tell me,”_ Morty said and he realised that he was standing, maybe a little too close for comfort, with his cock still tenting his pants, but if Rick was willing to throw aside his dignity--by displaying _genuine human emotion, wow_ \--then so was Morty.

Rick looked down, and what did that make this--the tenth time?--and he visibly gulped. “You--I--I didn’t realise before,” he started, slowly. The fire burning in his gaze was, for once, not huge and all-consuming, and it wasn’t directed at him. Rick was staring directly at the mirror behind Morty, looking at himself (though, judging on the glassiness of his eyes, not really), and he didn’t look happy. “And I was giving us space, so I could figure it out, and then…”

He trailed off. “And then?” Morty prompted him, not too gently, but not rudely either; with Rick, it was always a fine line to walk.

“I…” Rick looked like he was about to croak on the spot. “I realised that I-- _oh Jesus Christ_ \--I… you know.” He gestured vaguely in the area between him and Morty. Morty really didn’t know--was Rick going to get all coy about caring about him?

Well, shit. That would explain things, and it would also make it that much harder to get rid of the lump in Morty’s pants--for unrelated reasons. Honestly. 

_Who was he fucking kidding?_

The only person he could possibly hope to fool would be Rick but, even then, he was exceptionally good at recognising sexual frustration (probably because Morty’s grandpa didn’t just have notches on his bedpost; he had whittled the whole bed frame away). But what Rick was talking about was completely different, Morty knew it.

It had to be, right?

Rick might have feelings, but even he could have a planetary mindset sometimes. And Morty knew there was, like, psychology involved in the whole _wanting your blood relative to throw you onto a mattress and fuck you so hard you forget your name_ thing, which would probably effect Rick too.

Right?

While Morty continued to stare at Rick, unblinking and confused, Rick groaned so deep that it shook the room. “I--” Rick had to take a break from his sentence, to yell at the ceiling. It was familiar, but Rick normally saved it for when he was shit-faced and had something to prove without the correct tools to prove it with. It was frustrated and angry and stuck, and Morty felt the need to do… something, but he knew that Rick would come back to himself soon. Still, he backed away.

Rick stopped after around two minutes to clear his throat into his sleeve, and his fingers twitched in a way that Morty was uncomfortably familiar with. Against all odds, though, Rick didn’t reach for his flask and twist it in his fingers like a child with a safety blanket. Instead, he took calming breaths.

“I want to touch you, Morty,” Rick said bluntly, and _then_ reached into his coat pocket. “I didn’t know what I wanted until _today,_ and I was conducting experiments, Morty, on our--on my relationship with you. Staying away and staying closer, and all that fucking shit, and nothing helped me figure it out except for--for--”

He looked at Morty’s crotch again, and Morty… was frozen in time.

Rick looked too fucking scared to be real, but Morty had to know. He had to know if this was a prank, or a lie, because the alternative meant--it meant that Rick…

Rick truly, genuinely, really wanted to do _that_ with him.

“Because I got--I got a boner?” Morty squeaked, and decided that Rick was fucking with him. He still shielded his groin, though, in case there were cameras or anything else that Rick might decide to pull out of his sleeve to embarrass him. “Rick, are you--were you infected with something? Is it like that time with those flowers?”

Because even they couldn’t avoid falling into cliches sometimes. A little while ago, Rick had been _really_ busy bitching at Morty for some reason or another, and fell off a cliff into a field of bouncy flowers that also happened to contain a very strong aphrodisiac.

That was before Morty had any idea what his feelings even were, so he just led Rick--who had been panting and sweating and _rock hard_ in his pants--to the nearest brothel by the hand.

It hadn’t been all that fun, and Morty really didn’t want to get his hopes up because Rick had taken too many drugs that had just fucked him up entirely.

“You’re… you’re scared of me,” Rick’s mouth was screwed up in a harsh line as he took in Morty’s new distance, and his obscured hard-on. “Fuck. _Fuck,_ Morty, I told you--you can’t just let this stuff out, you have to push it down until it goes away.”

Holy. Shit.

He was serious. A quick look at his eyes showed that his pupils weren’t blown and his eyes weren’t tinged with a distinct colour, which meant it wasn’t drugs or flowers. He also wasn’t acting loose and free like he normally did when he got smashed; no, he was acting like he was super drunk--which still didn’t explain random bursts of attraction to your flesh and blood--or sober.

Morty was leaning toward sober; Rick was sloppy with his paranoia when he got really drunk, but sober Rick was cagey about it. Secretive. Closed off.

Rick hadn’t just been _conducting experiments,_ he had been withdrawing: the realisation nearly knocked Morty’s breath from his lungs. That was what happened when Rick figured out that he was doing something that he hadn’t originally wanted, and the original plan was always the most important to him. For someone that loved being unpredictable, he liked to make a plan and stick to it, because he hadn’t had the chance to be exposed to emotional change yet; all decisions made after his attachments came to light were compromised.

That was what happened to Morty’s mom and grandma (at least, he assumed so; Rick and mom weren’t exactly open when it came to their respective pasts).

“I’m--I’m not scared of you, Rick,” Morty said, and it was the truth even if it made him stupid. Rick had pushed him down stairs, experimented on him, and forced him to go against his morals on more than one occasion, but Morty… didn’t care. Maybe that was a result of their relationship, or maybe it was because Rick wasn’t a one-dimensional villain from a child’s cartoon and Morty could empathise just that little bit more. Either way, Rick had made Morty stupid and it was _fine._

Rick didn’t believe him, and it wasn’t hard to understand why.

Morty had to assume that, normally, when an old man confessed to wanting a not-really socially acceptable relationship with his literal grandson, the reaction was… quite different. Morty took maybe a little too much pleasure from defying Rick’s expectations.

“Morty,” Rick sounded scared as Morty took a step forward, backing away with his hands in the air. “Look, I can actually erase this if you want, okay? No need to--to act weird, c’mon, Morty…”

Morty couldn’t believe it.

Maybe the universe didn’t hate him after all.

The arousal in his stomach made itself known, no longer soft and barely noticeable; no, Morty doubted that anything would have stopped the sudden flare of want that was blowing out his pupils, turning him into someone more confident than he was.

“Fuuuuck…” Rick wasn’t blinking, his eyes fixed almost desperately on Morty’s face. “You can’t play me like this, Morty, you can’t-- _oh Jesus--_ you don’t know what you’re doing here.”

That was fair, but Morty felt like he finally knew what he was doing, and it was all because they had both realised something from what Morty had originally assumed was a _fuck you_ from the universe.

It was a _fuck you,_ but it was beginning to look like the universe meant that in a more literal, more _fun_ way.

“Prove it,” Morty said when he had backed Rick into the solid wood that separated two stalls. Rick looked on in disbelief, still fixed on Morty. When he didn’t do anything but let his mouth fall open, Morty took pity on him (but only slightly). Even if Rick had been acting sincere and strange, Morty needed _proof._ “It’s okay, Rick, I _promise.”_

Morty didn’t want to make the first move. He had pushed, and pushed, and Rick just needed to take that final leap of faith that Morty was being serious too.

Rick lifted his hand, shaking only slightly in the way that Morty had only seen when he was close to going through withdrawal. It was a struggle not to push his cheek into Rick’s clammy palm like an affectionate pet, but Morty managed it somehow.

Rick looked reverent as he pushed his fingers through Morty’s curls, his fingertips brushing gently against the shell of Morty’s ear.

Morty’s heart stopped for a second.

Was this… definitely what he wanted? Could he take it back if he went through with this? The obvious answer to the second question was no, but the first question was harder to find an answer for. Rick’s thumb pressed against the swell of Morty’s bottom lip, and Morty inhaled sharply.

Rick used his other arm to pull Morty into him (causing Morty to gasp lightly at the sensation of his sensitive dick pressing against Rick’s thigh through their pants), and Morty finds the answer in Rick’s eyes.

They were bright, and intelligent, and so unbelievably fond that Morty let him lean down slowly, closing the gap between their faces until their lips met in a chaste, too sweet kiss.

And Morty kissed back.

That moment made something that he had always known in the deepest, most secret part of his brain just that much clearer: he was, for better or worse, completely and irrevocably in love with Rick. It was like a switch had been flipped in Rick too because, when he broke away, it was with a vicious growl that made Morty’s toes curl in his shoes, and he was spinning Morty around. It made Morty dizzy, sure, but it was nothing compared to how Rick kissed him next, deep and filthy, like he was trying to steal the oxygen directly from Morty’s lungs.

Morty let out an embarrassing moan that was garbled by Rick’s mouth on his, and he would have wound his arms around Rick’s neck if they weren’t pinned above his head, forcing him to rise onto his tippy-toes.

 _“Holy shit,”_ Morty said the moment Rick let him breathe again, his mouth hanging open as he panted to make up for the air he had lost. He opened his mouth to say something else, but whined when Rick attacked his neck next, laying kisses and licking stripes up his throat and then biting none-too-gently at his ear.

Morty was ready to fall apart and just let Rick rock his world, but he just had to do something first.

“You have to promise me, Rick,” Morty gasped, throwing his head back to clunk against the thick wood as Rick mouthed at his neck, the pain radiating in a way that definitely shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. “Please-- _oh God, keep doing that--_ just talk to me next time!”

Rick pulled back, but still rocked his hips forward in a random pattern, leaving Morty humping the air as he tried and failed to reciprocate on time.

“Sure--sure, whatever,” Rick said, tripping over his words as he slipped a hand under Morty’s t-shirt, calloused fingers pressing against Morty’s vertebrae and easing the tension from his muscles as he pressed down. “Just--baby, c’mon, just let me--”

_Rick was asking him._

He wasn’t taking without giving, like Morty was so used to--he wasn’t being selfish, or rude--and he was, instead, probably giving _Morty_ more relief. Only because Morty was trapped inside his head and heart, _feeling_ and _feeling_ and _feeling_ , and struggling to find a way to push those feelings to Rick, instead.

But Rick still hadn’t said, seriously, that he would do what Morty said… Morty didn’t know if it was a big enough deal that, if Rick didn’t agree, he would walk away from all of this, and beg Rick to remove this memory of what might have been later on but, well: Rick didn’t know that either.

“Rick! I’m serious!”

He just knew that Rick was rolling his eyes, but he still pulled back and smiled, not quite nicely but not nastily either. “Okay,” Rick said, and he sounded like he actually meant it. “I’m going to tell you everything, baby, you’re going to be fucking sick of me talking--” Morty had no idea how that was possible when Rick sounded so fucking _good,_ “--but you don’t want me to care about that, do you?”

Morty couldn’t answer with his heart lodged in his throat, but the answer was a resounding _no._ Rick couldn’t do anything to him that Morty wouldn’t have begged for beforehand--he could probably fuck him in front of their family, in front of their judgemental stares and horrified silence and Morty would beg for more.

Rick could do anything, and Morty was sure that he would always play along.

And, plus, it was somehow extremely hot that Rick was acting like he knew what Morty needed, and didn’t care about giving it to him right away.

As long as Rick was pleasing him, touching him, wanting him-- _don’t think about it, don’t think about it_ \--loving him-- _shit!--_ Morty would be too focused on trying to do the same. They were the constant, they were Rick and Morty; everything else could fall away, and it would still be just them. Together.

“No,” Morty admitted when Rick looked like he still wanted an answer, gasping as Rick’s teeth buried themselves in his shoulder. It _hurt_ and he _liked_ it, and he wanted to be covered and owned and claimed by Rick and Rick alone.

“That’s fucking right, sweetie,” Morty’s hips jerked forward at the unexpected but not unwelcome pet name, a desperate whine escaping from between his lips that were clenched tight to avoid drawing people in to see what was going on…

...Though he’d still keep going if Rick did too.

“Aren’t we--” Morty stopped what he was saying to jump up, wrapping his legs around Rick’s hips in a move that surprised them both. “Don’t we have a--a meeting?”

Because, shit, that had been a relatively large part of the narrative until now, hadn't it?

Rick groaned like Morty had asked the dumbest question possible, and Morty kissed him to swallow the sound. Rick reached into his coat with one hand, the other still trapping Morty’s wrists to the wooden stall-frame in an unbelievably strong grip, and fumbled with his portal gun.

“Fuck that noise,” he said when Morty pulled back to pepper kisses along his hairline, and used the grip on Morty’s wrists to bodily toss him through the portal he had just shot into the wall beside them.

The fall wasn’t far, and Morty was cushioned by the carpet in Rick’s room, so his arousal wasn’t dampened in the slightest. He breathed heavily as he stared at the portal, and he wasn’t ready for how perfect Rick looked.

He didn’t get much time to process it.

Rick hit a switch to the side of his door that Morty vaguely recognised as the sound barrier device he had been working on a few weeks ago.

And then Rick attacked Morty like the fact that they were secreted away in his room was hotter than sin, moaning into his mouth with the rest of their family probably downstairs and none the wiser as the sound barrier kicked in, thrumming softly in the background. The thought of his family shouldn’t have made Morty shove his hips forward into Rick’s, or return Rick’s sloppy kisses with a previously unknown tenacity, but it did.

It was another adventure, another secret, another little tidbit that was only for Rick and Morty, and the very thought created a sick sense of pride that bubbled uncomfortably where Morty’s heart was supposed to be. 

Rick shoved him away suddenly, though his hands still wandered over Morty’s clothed chest, dipping his fingers under the yellow shirt to skim teasingly, his blunt nails digging into the soft, unblemished column of Morty’s throat. “You want this,” Rick said, hoarse, shoving Morty into the wall by his shoulders when he tried to move forward for more friction. “That means we do this my way, Morty, we do it how I say. Okay?”

Morty couldn’t find the right words, his head a jumble of _yes, please, touch me, love me, have me,_ so he just nodded frantically, curls bouncing as he tilted his mouth up for better access. Rick accepted the unspoken invitation, licking into Morty’s mouth slowly. Morty tried his best to keep his eyes open so he could see Rick, but only succeeded in keeping them half-lidded. He was so captivated by the expressions that flitted across Rick’s face he hardly noticed the older man capturing both of his wrists, holding them up high enough that Morty was forced to balance on the balls of his feet.

Morty could hardly see through the thick fog of lust that was clouding his vision, but he could see Rick now, like he had never been able to before; Rick’s eyes were predatory again, but the sparks that rushed up and down Morty’s spine had nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with pure, unadulterated want. 

Need.

“You’re going to blow me, Morty,” Rick breathed as soon as he pulled away from Morty’s mouth, his eyes manic as he stared down at his grandson. “And I’m going to turn off the sound barrier, and you’re going to be quiet, alright?”

Morty didn’t have time to agree, protest, or negotiate before Rick started talking again, long fingers playing along the waistband of Morty’s jeans. 

“Yeah, baby, you’ll be such a good slut for me, won’t you?” Rick cooed, so soft and sweet that Morty was getting whiplash just standing there, littered with the kind of attention and affection that he had only dreamed of--but even in his dreams, he was never with a man, and Rick was never there. But, fuck, Rick was here now and he couldn’t imagine anything happening differently. 

Rick tugged Morty over to the bed, keeping Morty’s bound arms straight while he did, sitting on himself on the bed before lowering Morty to the ground until he was settled uncomfortably on his knees, looking up at Rick with his swollen dick wedged in his jeans.

The _ziiiiip_ of Rick’s fly sounded louder than it should have, drowning out the slight beep of the sound barrier as Rick disengaged it. With the knowledge that their family could potentially hear the noise and walk in on them made Morty think carefully about each ragged breath, every sound teetering on the edge of too loud. Rick’s belt clanked as it hit the floor, and Morty looked up at him, forehead creased. Rick’s raptured expression melted away into something that Morty could only liken to fondness, something so sickly sweet that it took every part of Morty’s being not to overthink the situation.

He was used to harsh words and scowls, and this version of Rick was new and shiny, a valuable toy for Morty to play with. 

Morty held his breath as Rick’s pants slipped down, pooling around his ankles for the briefest moment before he kicked them off entirely. His sweater and wife-beater were stripped away too, until the only barrier left hiding Rick away in his entirety was his underwear, his erection jutting insistently against the fabric.

Almost every rational thought had been stripped away by lust and desperation, but an important one remained nonetheless: what happened when Rick was stripped bare, and Morty’s mouth was _on_ him? What happened after?

Would his memory be erased? Would their family find out? Would Rick pack up and leave? Would Morty regret this later?

Maybe the answer to all of those things was yes. Maybe it was no. Maybe it didn’t matter, because Morty was on his knees, chest thrust out while he shivered against the cold that invaded every part of Rick, desperate to keep warm (and maybe warm Rick up from the inside out).

Any opportunity for thought was quickly blown away, like ashes lost to the wind. A feverish feeling settled low in Morty’s stomach as Rick tugged at his hands, his own big hands curling around Morty’s until Morty’s fingers were hooked around Rick’s underwear. Morty caught on quickly despite the cotton in his brain, tugging his fingers down down slowly, more and more skin revealed as he did so.

_Was this what power felt like?_

Because Morty was in the most demeaning position he could think of, his heart pounding loud enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the family heard him from downstairs--or, even closer, from their bedrooms. 

It was hard to remember to be quiet when Rick was finally exposed to him, his cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs. A sharp inhale got trapped in his throat at the thought of it in his mouth, and a quick thought followed: _his breath wouldn’t be the only thing getting stuck there._

“Touch me,” Rick said, raspily, and Morty realised he was staring, his mouth slack and saliva pooling. When Morty didn’t move he got more insistent, his fingers combing through Morty’s curls, his eyes dark and needy. “C’mon, baby, I know you want this-” he rocked his hips forward at that “-just do this one thing for me, do this one thing for grandpa.”

Rick’s mouth was curved up in a strained smile, fake-looking smile, like he didn’t truly believe in his own words, and Morty didn’t either. Rick was all or nothing, and the chances of this being the extent of this… whatever this was, were slim to none. Still, Morty appreciated the effort Rick put into calming him down, the elder’s hands still running through his hair, down the nape of his neck, strong fingers stroking down his cheeks.

“Just this one thing,” Morty repeated, making sure to keep his voice low, lifting his hands to rest them on Rick’s lean thighs. “And then…” he could feel his cheeks filling with blood at what _else_ they could do after Morty… after he…

Fuck, he really was bad at this. 

Afterward, Rick would _fuck_ him until he ached, until Morty was crying and pleading, until the shadow of their shame settled deep in his bones, only revisited at night when Morty was alone, hand moving over his cock desperately to try and live through this pleasure again.

_Fuck._

Rick could read his thoughts, Morty knew it--he could understand them through his eyes, just as easily as he could see and understand math equations and interstellar travel. The thought shouldn’t have sent shivers down Morty’s spine, but it did; Rick knew him down to his bone marrow, knew every cell in his body deeply and intimately, and now he would know Morty like this too. It was pathetic and humiliating, and Morty couldn’t care less.

“Just do this for grandpa,” Rick played along, a secret smile warping his roguish features. The reminder of their relation made Morty’s heart jump in his chest, and his stomach swirl uncomfortably--for a reason he couldn’t quite place his finger on. “Okay, sweetie?”

Rick talked a lot. It was a fact of life that he ranted and monologued (mostly for to hear himself talk, Morty thought) unlike anyone else in the world, but this was special. This was different, because it didn’t seem like Rick was whispering for his own benefit--it sounded like it was for _Morty’s_ benefit, for his comfort and pleasure--and Morty thrived on the attention he was sure that Rick would never give anyone else. Rick had hookups, he knew that, and he was aware of the jealousy that settled under his skin at the thought, but they were different. He had heard his fair share of explicit details from Rick himself, and had once accidentally sat in the back of the ship when Rick had invited some guy to do _things_ in it with him.

Rick was special, and maybe… maybe Rick thought this was special too. 

Maybe he thought Morty was special too.

And, God, to be special to someone like Rick would be like being a priest--still a worshipper but above the rest--and Morty was reminded once more of his position on his knees. He could be the universe to Rick, he could be anything for Rick. He really did serve Rick, didn’t he? _In every way_ , his viper of a brain reminded him. _How much more can you give him?_

Morty didn’t care what he had to give, he realised as Rick’s eyes softened and his fingers roamed over Morty like he was trying to memorise his body through touch alone. He would give anything to Rick if Rick kept giving it back to him in return. Even if he stopped, Morty would still try and he would still worship Rick like he was born to do.

He was on earth because of Rick, and his brain was for Rick to use, and appreciate. Somehow, those simple facts were hotter than sin, and Morty had made up his mind (like the answer hadn’t been decided long ago).

“Anything,” Morty said, and he could feel his eyes glossing over in the rush of hormones that flooded his body. “I’ll--I’ll do whatever you say, Rick.”

And Morty could see the exact moment that Rick gave over to his instincts, could see the exact moment that the power, the lust, and Morty’s embarrassingly honest truth gave him permission to tighten his hands in Morty’s hair, and push his face down.

“Fuck, babe, you’re going to kill me,” Rick said, not sounding angry or excited like any of the other times he had mentioned death in his life--instead, he sounded awed. Reverent. “Dying after a sexathon with the multiverse’s hottest piece of ass was always the way I wanted to go anyway.”

_The multiverse’s hottest piece of ass._

Morty? Morty knew Rick’s preference in men. Tall, broad, strong--it made it all the more fun for Rick to strip them down to nothing, to reduce them to his playthings, because that’s not the role they were meant to play. There was no way that Rick honestly believed his own words, no way that he really, truly, honestly thought-

But Morty let out a deep huff, hot air grazing Rick’s dick, and the tight grip of his hair loosened slightly, allowing him to look up.

Rick was a good liar. But Morty would swear on his favourite star, would swear on the adventures, would swear on _Rick_ that he wasn’t lying. His face never managed to get that sweet when he was lying, and he never let himself look so open and vulnerable. That wasn’t Rick but, as Morty was discovering along with the expanse of Rick’s body, there were more parts to Rick than he had thought. 

“Morty,” Rick was _begging,_ his voice strewn with need. Morty briefly worried about their family before deciding that it didn’t matter at all. Rick would take care of it--or they could just leave again. Rick and Morty against the rest of the multiverse, the only ties they had left to their original dimension. “Just lick it, baby, come--you know you want to, my treasure.”

 _Treasure. Rick’s treasure._ Morty knew a few things that Rick treasured, and none of them were people; fleeting highs and stupid experiences, but never people.

And, jeez, Rick’s type was supposed to be anyone _but_ Morty; Morty was too weak, too thin, too short, and Rick always swallowed every place he was in while Morty was left to the side. Now Morty felt like he was the centre of attention, felt like he was the centre of Rick’s whole entire universe.

And, sure, maybe Morty wasn’t the best listener on adventures, but he had never had the same kind of incentive before.

He opened his mouth, slow and unsure, the head of Rick’s cock catching between his lips. Rick moaned like he had been knifed in the stomach, and he was too loud for such a little action, but Morty thrived on it. He let his jaw drop, his tongue laving at the member in his mouth. It didn’t taste _good,_ but it didn’t taste horrible; it was warm, and heavy, and very slightly salty against his tongue, and he decided that he didn’t hate it. Something that made it more than bearable was Rick’s reaction.

He looked fucking _beautiful._ The word didn’t normally suit Rick with his harsh lines and jagged edges, but with Morty’s mouth on his dick it fit perfectly. 

Just based on how fast Rick was going, how willing he was to move when Morty was hesitant and afraid, he had to wonder how long Rick had wanted him for. Had it been since they first met, where Morty was too young and small and anxious to be anything more than a hindrance (but Rick had cared for him anyway)? Had it been since Morty saved him from vomiting in his sleep once, rolling him onto his side and staying with him all night? Had it been since Morty killed for the first time, since he had sacrificed everything he was for Rick?

Rick was staring at him, unblinking, and it had to be because he wasn’t just doing... this... on a whim. The chances of Morty being manipulated into this were high, but as he swallowed around his mouthful, he had to say he preferred this over every other kind of experiment Rick had put him through before.

Morty couldn’t say much through Rick’s dick, but Rick more than made up for it as he thrust not-so softly into Morty’s mouth, very barely nudging the back of Morty’s throat. “You look so good like this,” he said, softly (but not soft enough, Morty remembered, listening for life in the rest of the house), “I don’t know--fuck, why didn’t we do this ages ago?”

Morty was almost embarrassed at the amount of saliva pooling in his mouth, slipping over lips slicked with spit and precum, but Rick didn’t seem to mind as Morty swallowed, his teeth very lightly grazing Rick as he did so. Instead he let his head tilt back, holding Morty by his jaw to keep him still as he rocked his hips to a steady rhythm, thumb pressing against Morty’s lower lip.

Holding his jaw open _ached._

The weight on his tongue was almost too much, the strain of the muscles in his cheek _was_ too much, and he had barely enough oxygen to not pass out and slip forward along Rick’s dick, until his lips were pressed against tangled, saliva dampened pubes. Tears pricked at his eyes every time Rick went a little too deep, and he wished he knew what to do so he wouldn’t be a living, breathing fleshlight; he could do better, he knew it.

That’s why the next time Rick pushed forward, his eyes screwed closed at the stimulation, Morty pressed forward too, swallowing desperately as a wave of dizziness overtook him, huffing through his nose. Rick choked out a started gasp, the hands still on Morty’s jaw flexing wildly as his eyes flew open, knees jerking on either side of Morty’s body. This really was power, Morty realised, even as he choked and fought every urge in his body that told him to pull off and _breathe._ Rick held him even tighter, knees squeezing next to his head, hands pulling at Morty’s hair until he was forced to stay on Rick for a breathless moment.

Fear sparked in Morty’s brain as he gave in and tried to pull off, only for Rick to groan in displeasure, and lock him in place.

 _Fuck,_ Morty thought, air deprivation making his head dizzy and loopy, every inhale through his nose burning in its intensity. Rick glanced down, his eyes wide with an emotion that was impossible for Morty to name, and the moment froze in time as he _watched_ Rick debate letting him go. It was a moment too long by only seconds, until he had to have seen something in Morty that made him change his mind as he loosened his grip (it seemed like softness, or concern, but Morty was willing to chalk that up to wishful thinking).

Morty reeled back, falling on his ass as he scooted away to regain his dignity in as much privacy as he could, irrationally, uncontrollably grateful as he coughed and spluttered and heaved until he thought his lungs might slither up his throat from his chest. Rick leaned forwards, leaning his elbows on his knobby knees, head cocked as he observed Morty’s desperate attempts to get his body back under control. Morty was sure that he looked disgusting, with sweat and tears pouring down his face, the suffocation probably turning his face into a blotchy mess, but Rick was still _staring_ at him, his own chest heaving.

Rick’s erection hadn’t diminished in the slightest and, Morty realised shamefully, neither had his.

Rick was the drug he hadn’t known he needed, and he couldn’t help himself but craving more attention, even as his throat ached, even as his nose stung, and every warning signal in his body reminded him that Rick was a danger unto himself, a danger to Morty.

The thing was, Morty couldn’t go back even if he wanted to. Rick didn’t look like he could stop, and Rick could make Morty his world, his universe all he liked--but he was still a God, and he would still consume Morty whether he wanted it or not.

And, God, Morty wanted it.

He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t, because this situation was a hurricane of hurt and pleasure and want already, and he was settled in the calm of the eye; he was never a person that knew what he wanted, and he was always pushed and pulled whatever way Rick tugged, but this time Morty was going without being lead by the wrist, a lamb to slaughter.

He was still staring at Rick, his eyes less blurry but his head no less foggy, but he was back on his knees now, the carpet pressing into his skin in a way he knew would leave ugly imprints along his calves if he weren’t still wearing his too thick jeans.

“I--” talking hurt in a pain he had never felt before, intimately deep and somehow, it felt inexplicably good. He didn’t think he sounded particularly sexy, voice raw and hoarse, but he saw Rick bite his lip as he narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow in a way that made Morty want to choke again, just to see that look repeated.

He really was sick, wasn’t he?

“Yeah, baby?” Rick crowded in on him, leaning forward even more, long fingers stroking up and down the column of Morty’s throat before big hands moved to encircle it entirely, thumbs locked under his chin until Morty was in danger of getting his wish granted. “What--c’mon, what do you want, sweetie? What do you want--want to tell grandpa?”

There were always at least ten things Morty wanted to say to Rick, festering in brain matter until Morty thought he might genuinely, truly go insane, but this time he drew a blank. What _did_ he want to say to Rick?

This was embarrassing and stifling, the air growing thicker as Morty struggled to think of an answer. Rick was supposed to be the one in charge here, not Morty! Not Morty who didn’t know anything, who didn’t know what to say or think or feel, not Morty who was so overwhelmed by every move Rick made that he could cry at the most gentle caress.

“I want more,” Morty rasped, eyes down-turned so he couldn’t see Rick’s reaction. He could feel the stain of his embarrassment creeping over his chest in red, burning the tips of his ears. “Please, Rick--can I have more?”

Because he could feel Rick in his throat, on his skin, but he needed more of him everywhere, needed to be filled from the inside out until he was branded and owned, until he was nothing but Rick’s. Rick’s to own, to have, to _fuck_.

Hey, he never claimed to be a stable individual.

He could make Rick his too. He could drag his nails down the expanse of Rick’s back, bite at his neck with the gentleness of a hunting lioness, could meld every part of his body to Morty’s until it was impossible to tell where Rick started and Morty ended. If Rick was like this now, manic and beautiful and desperate for Morty (as implausible as that sounded when Morty repeated the thought in his head), he would come back.

Rick would come back because he didn’t step back from his vices, he let them feed his fire, let the fan the sparks of his soul, and Morty wanted that. Fuck, he wanted that so bad.

Rick’s eyes were unlike any eyes he had ever noticed before--even Jessica, with her lovely amber eyes, could never compare--and Morty could drown in the cool grey, discarding a lifeboat in favour of swimming down, down, down until he reached Rick’s mind. As it was, Rick’s eyes weren’t the icy cold Morty was used to; no, they were warm and soothing, and Morty could almost see through them into Rick’s thoughts.

Almost, being the key word.

“Babe,” Rick breathed, and Morty almost fell forward at that, desperate to get as close as he possibly could. “Baby, sweetie, you--you love this, don’t you? You love choking on grandpa’s cock?”

Morty glanced briefly at the device that activated the sound barrier, licking his spit-slick lips without thinking about it. He wanted it on so he could _scream,_ so he could agree with every filthy word spilling from Rick’s lips, so every second thought didn’t revolve around fear (no matter how excited it made him feel when he pushed the boundaries of acceptable noises). Rick followed his gaze, and chuckled lowly. 

“You want it on?” Rick asked, sly. “You want grandpa to help you be loud?”

Rick kept calling himself grandpa a lot, Morty noticed distantly as he nodded frantically. He never called himself that around Morty--only to Summer and when he talked to mom about being a good role-model. 

Morty wasn’t exactly an innovative thinker, but he couldn’t help but…

“Please, grandpa,” he blinked up at Rick, who moaned like Morty had his lips wrapped around his dick again, and fumbled for the little box, swiping it on without breaking eye contact with Morty. The thrumming in the background started up again, but Morty didn’t have any time to appreciate it, or even thank Rick properly before Rick tackled him to the ground, shoving Morty’s back into the carpet before kissing him savagely. Rick was on top of him, _naked,_ while Morty was still embarrassingly clothed. The heat was getting to Morty, and he wriggled desperately to be let up, so he could peel his shirt off, kick his jeans to the opposite side of the room--but Rick didn’t give him any room.

“You give a Morty an inch,” Rick hissed in his ear, teeth grazing the sensitive cartilage there as Morty shuddered. “Remember the rules, Morty? You do what I say, baby, remember?”

“C’mon, Rick,” Morty cried, “please, I want to--you want to see me right? I want you to see me too, please, Rick, grandpa-”

He didn’t know if he wanted Rick to see him, if he wanted Rick to know him everywhere. But he imagined Rick tonguing at the scars of childhood that were scattered over his body, finally wrapping his calloused hand around Morty’s aching length, and he decided that it would be worth the inevitable embarrassment when Rick realised that Morty wasn’t someone he should want.

If Rick poked fun at Morty he could always cry about it later, but now he wanted to cry for different reasons.

And, maybe Rick wanted to see him too, if the cunning light that sprung into his eyes was anything to go by. “You’re right, Morty,” he said, and Morty buried his face in his neck as Rick ground his hips punishingly. _Right._ Where did Rick get off, acting so gentle and un-Rick-like? “Yeah, you are, m--my little slut.”

Morty’s hips jerked, and he didn’t know if that was because his shirt was being pushed up, or because Rick’s new nickname for him struck a nerve that really, _really_ liked the attention. He eagerly assisted Rick in ripping his shirt off, even though it tried to cling to his sweaty skin, and surged forward to meet Rick’s lips when they finally managed to remove it.

Rick took advantage of Morty’s newly exposed skin immediately, attaching himself to Morty’s chest by the teeth, while Morty only let his legs fall even more open, carpet burn making itself known as he squirmed and wriggled like a fish on a hook.

Morty didn’t know if his grip of Rick’s hair was meant to pull him closer or push him away, so his fingers just stayed tangled in the older man’s shock of hair as he bit at Morty’s stomach, licking stripes up the smooth plane of Morty’s stomach and blowing teasing puffs of air on his nipples. Morty didn’t have to worry about being loud anymore, but he still tried to bite his tongue as best he could--it was _embarrassing._

He didn’t want to think back and remember how he moaned, and begged, and cried like a girl. It was good that he didn’t have to worry about his family overhearing his laboured breathing, the yelps that escaped when Rick dug his teeth in just a bit too deep, but Morty wasn’t going to scream.

Not yet, at least, he thought as Rick rose up to suck marks into Morty’s neck, eyes narrowed in a challenge that Morty could feel burning behind his irises as well. 

If anyone could make Morty change his mind, Rick could; he’d had the practice, after all, in twisting Morty and breaking him apart and putting him back together in a jumbled, haphazard mess of a person. 

Maybe that was why Morty was burning alive, making encouraging noises as Rick fumbled at the buttons on Morty’s jeans, shoving the tough, uncooperative fabric down his thin legs that were mottled with bruises from previous adventures. Rick snapped the waistband of Morty’s boxers, an action that caused Morty to moan just the tiniest bit.

He couldn’t help it! The blood flow was directed all to his groin, and he was pretty sure that the oxygen deprivation, while not particularly long, was still messing with him as he threw his head back to clunk against the carpeted floor. Rick was getting dangerously close to something they could never walk away from, and Morty’s heart was pounding in time with every harsh touch that startled him from the fog in his brain.

He watched Rick press his fingers into the bruises and scratches that littered Morty’s thighs and calves, his touch possessive in every move he made.

It felt good, and Morty knew that this had to have been planned somehow; that this had been perfected and detailed on the drawing board by Rick sometime in the last few weeks (or _years_ ), because Morty had all but trained himself to notice the signs of Rick planning something--if not to scold him for it, then to distance himself before something went inevitably wrong. 

Because if it hadn’t been, he had willingly fallen into Rick’s web, and that couldn’t be Morty. 

Maybe he should stop blaming Rick for everything he did, he thought, dragging him up from his thighs--Rick following his lead, this time in a way that almost triggered a trickle of hysterical laughter because this couldn’t be _possible_. Rick swallowed any noise Morty would have made, taking all Morty had and giving it back in tenfold until Morty was stuck breathing air from Rick’s mouth.

Rick broke his mouth away from his, and Morty dragged in the biggest breath he could, unable to block out Rick’s constant talking. The air was too thin, like when he and Rick had been adventuring on a mountain for the mines there--Morty had passed out twice, and Rick had been fine (as usual)--and Rick almost seemed to swallow all the oxygen in the room for himself while Morty was left to suffocate. Maybe that was just the collapsing of his morals talking.

Rick wouldn’t shut up, and Morty hadn’t honestly expected him to.

Filthy things spilled from Rick’s lips like rain from a storm cloud, english and spanish blurring together into a mix of nonsense that was hotter than sin. “Eres un tesoro,” Rick was pulling at Morty’s underwear, and they were gone too soon, tangling around his ankles before they were kicked off entirely. “Te ves _preciosa_.”

Rick never, _ever_ spoke his native language around Summer and Morty, still too miffed that mom hadn’t been bothered to teach them when they were younger. He always complained that dad had americanised them too much (which was probably true--their dad was patriotic to say in the least, and had made some less than subtle jabs at Rick’s ethnicity before).

Which, of course, made mom go off as well--she was half latina as well, and took it just as personally as Rick had. 

If Morty had learned anything in all of his years on earth, it’s that you better not miss when you swing at a Sanchez. They come back smarter, stronger, and scarier--Morty liked to count his lucky stars that he was still counted as a Sanchez by blood, because that normally left him semi-protected from the generalised scorn Rick tended to hold for his non-family members.

Well, he all but hated everyone in his family too, but they were too close to him genetically to really give a shit about that though.

...And he just remembered that their relationship was more than something that could be summed up as an oddly specific grand daddy kink gone weird. 

Rick let his hand drift down, down, down towards Morty’s crotch, and Morty had to try really hard to forget that this was the same guy that would have probably taken his mom by the hand with the same, firm grip-

Morty moaned, forgetting the pretense for just a second, one of his hands releasing from its death grip on Rick in order to shield his eyes, brushing away tears from where they clung to his eyelashes. This was _Rick,_ his _grandpa Rick,_ and it was hard to think that the same guy that ruffled Morty’s hair when they first met was giving him his first sexual experience with a person. It was Rick, and Rick was good--too good, _fuck_ \--with his hands, in how his thumb swiped over the flushed head of Morty’s cock, dry and calloused where Morty would normally prefer lotion slicked hands, but somehow perfectly suited for the task he was performing. 

He hadn’t forgotten that this was Rick (he could _never)_ , hadn’t forgotten the specifics of their relationship (he could try), but it hadn’t been playing on his mind like it was right now, every twitch of Rick’s fingers on his dick reminding Morty of everything wrong with this scenario.

It wasn’t… wrong for him to not care, right?

He had killed ( _“-hoot, Morty, shoot!”_ ), tortured ( _“If we can torture our enemies but not jack them off how are we better than them-”_ ), lied ( _“The tree people!”_ ), and this was the only thing out of all of those, the only thing that he wanted to do. 

Maybe it was wrong, but they could be wrong together, couldn’t they?

Rick captured Morty’s jaw with his free hand, fingers squeezing the soft flesh there punishingly tight, and Morty was lost in the darkness of Rick’s blown out pupils, threatening to swallow the ashy grey of his irises. Morty could almost make out his panting, sweating, needy reflection in Rick’s eyes, and he lay there in suspended silence for just a moment, Rick’s hand never faltering. The only thing in the air between them was Morty’s laboured breaths, and a deep sigh Rick let out when Morty couldn’t take it anymore and tilted his head back, back, _back,_ trying to escape. 

Rick didn’t let him get far. Sure, his grip loosened, and Morty was free to turn his head away, half of his face pressed into the carpet, but Rick just released his cock too, something that caused a deep whine to leave Morty’s mouth without his consent.

Instead of giving Morty the stimulation he so desperately, desperately needed, Rick grabbed onto the thin layer of fat that covered Morty’s bony hips, capillaries bursting under his fingers until Morty knew there would be shaped bruises there tomorrow. He tugged at Morty’s lower half until he was half-draped over Rick’s lap, thighs squeezing around his middle. Morty struggled to balance the weight of his head and torso on his elbows, peering at Rick through a new wave of tears. “Wha-”

Rick cut him off as he hauled Morty up without warning, arms a tight band around his sensitive chest. Morty flailed for a few seconds before his own arms latched around Rick’s neck, holding on for dear life as Rick nuzzled behind his ear. “How are you gonna explain--what are you gonna say when people ask about _this,_ Morty?” Rick sucked at one of the marks he had left just a few moments earlier, darkening it as he teases it with his teeth, leaving indentations when he finally pulls away (though he can’t go far, with Morty squirming on his lap, hands keeping Rick’s head in place). “You gonna tell ‘em you got reamed by grandpa?” He thrusts his hips at that, and Morty grinds down too, seeking more friction than Rick seems to think he deserves. “And is--are you gonna tell them that you loved it, _Mooorty?_ That you _begged_ for it?”

Morty would tell anyone anything if Rick would just shut the fuck up and _touch_ him already.

He could already picture it clearly--too clearly--Summer, or Mom, or Dad, asking him who the lucky girl was and Rick just smirking at him from across the table while he blushed and stuttered, and pointedly avoided eye-contact because it was too shameful to do anything else.

This new position forced Rick into Morty’s direct line of vision, and it was simultaneously the best and worst view he’d ever had; alien and familiar, and something he couldn’t help but take in, curious lines tracking the lines in Rick’s face, the smudges under his eyes. He saw bad times and experiences in the yellowing bruise flowering on his cheekbone, and he saw good memories in the quirk of his mouth.

Rick didn’t say anything after his last teasing comment, breathing heavily as Morty raised a trembling hand to splay it flat against the side of Rick’s face with the bruise, swiping his thumb over it lightly (trying hard not to remember how Rick did something too similar just moments ago with Morty’s cock). It felt like time was suspended in those few seconds he saw Rick in all of his terrible, beautiful glory, completely in his element while Morty was left to stumble and trip after him.

Morty would never tell his family this. He couldn’t tell them that he knew that Rick’s brow creased slightly when Morty traced his hand down his scarred chest, could never tell them that he knew what Rick sounded like when he moaned, tell them where Rick’s hands wandered when Morty blew him. He knew that it would be too hard, too hard to an admission of guilt when all he wanted was to feel _good._

He also knew that Rick could make him break all of his promises in mere days, knew that he could convince him to tear apart his morals in weeks, and strip him of everything that made him human.

Rick could do all of that (but he wouldn’t, Morty knew, as he admired the softness that existed in Rick’s eyes only for _him_ ), and Morty would never love him less.

For an idiot, Morty sure was realising a whole lot more; maybe it was the close proximity to Rick and his _genius waves,_ he huffed out a quick laugh. Rick quirked his unibrow, his hands roaming up and down Morty’s back as he waited patiently--a first in his life, Morty was sure--still waiting for a response to his question.

“Yeah,” Morty said softly, the word threatened by his stutter, though he didn’t quite manage to butcher it. “Yeah, Rick, for--anything for you.”

 _God,_ it was pathetic. The words were too honest, too bare to be in response to the question Rick asked, and it was horrible that it was true at all. His family wasn’t even his real family, not the people he was raised by--however much they looked and acted like them. Maybe the answer would be different if he wasn’t excruciatingly aware of the distance between them. Maybe it wouldn’t.

“God, baby,” Rick pulled his arms out from behind him, his hands settling on either side of Morty’s face. “You’re going to kill me--send me into an early grave, if you keep t-talking like that, sweetie.”

If Morty was stupider, he wouldn’t know that his life was intimately, impossibly entwined with Rick’s; he went where Rick went, did what Rick did, and there was no doubt that when Rick was finally taken down--if that ever happened--Morty would follow him in a hail of bullets. He was surprisingly okay with that.

This time, when Rick kissed him, it wasn’t rough and burning in its intensity; it was slow, smouldering, and still just as passionate when Rick tangled his tongue with Morty’s, tilting his head to slip it in further. He tasted like whiskey and what was probably some alien drug, and Morty decided then and there that there was no better way to become an addict than through Rick’s mouth on his.

“Because you’re being such a good boy, Morty,” Rick said when he finally broke away. “You can--I want you to tell me what you want, Morty. C’mon, tell grandpa--anything you want.”

Anything _Morty_ wanted?

The last thing Morty wanted was to be given a choice; to look his mother in the eye the next day and know, with deep-rooted, shameful pleasure running to coil like a snake in the pits of his belly, that he did more than ask, more than whine at the sensations _Rick_ was putting him through. He would have participated, he would have been the one to play Rick like a pawn in a game of chess, and he couldn’t do that.

Could he?

He had already begged for more, had already run his fingers up and down Rick’s body, _had already had his lips wrapped around Rick’s dick._ Did admitting that he wanted to play a more active role, outside of his own pleasure, change any of that?

More than wanting to distance himself, Morty wanted to _feel._

He wanted Rick to press more bruises into his skin, to leave him desperate and gasping for air, to reach inside him and make him something new. He didn’t know how to put that into words though, and Rick’s newfound policy of keeping his hands to himself almost made it harder to articulate his _seriously disturbing_ thoughts.

Rick was being unusually good; his hands were by his sides, fingers tensed against the carpeted floor, picking idly at individual strands. The distance was as necessary as it was unbearable, and Morty decided to use the moment to collect himself, along with trying to come up with a decision.

Without Rick’s hands burning through his skin, he felt a little bit cooler. 

“I want…”

Rick raised his eyebrow teasingly, and Morty found himself, once more, at a loss for words. Rick was stunningly, devilishly handsome in a way that Morty had never paused to consider before; his eyes, his lips, his cheekbones, and the slight stubble caused by days upon days of not taking care of himself.

Morty would take care of Rick.

“I want to take care of you,” Morty breathed, because he thought that if there was ever a time for Rick to accept--it would be now. Before Rick could counter him, and say that he would do anything that benefited Morty, and Morty alone (undoubtedly trying to play on a technicality), Morty said: “And I want you to--I need--could we please-”

Morty had never felt more like a child than he did sitting in Rick’s lap--though they were both naked as the day they were born, and his thighs were spread to squeeze Rick’s thin waist, which was something he definitely couldn’t pull from any memories of his childhood--his fingers twisting because if Rick wasn’t touching Morty, Morty wasn’t touching Rick. He needed, more than anything, the security that came with Rick’s confidence, his boldness in exploring Morty so that Morty was free to explore him too. At the moment, he stuck to glancing at his grandfather from beneath his lashes, trying not to make eye contact. 

Not because he didn’t want to look at Rick’s eyes--but because absence made the heart grow fonder, and apparently Morty’s heart was located in his dick.

Rick seemed to understand the urgency in Morty’s voice, what he wanted that he didn’t dare say aloud (even with the sound barrier on), and smiled a wicked smile.

Because Morty wanted Rick _on_ him, _in_ him, but the concept was too unfamiliar and scary to name. He could say something adult, and confident--tell Rick that he wanted to be pinned down and fucked, as brutally as Rick would take him, because adventures had taught him that the best pleasure came entwined with a little bit of pain. 

He’d like Rick to give him a hands on lesson on that.

But he was too young and stupid and shy to even imagine saying that to someone like Rick, so he tried to convey his meaning through his actions as he pressed his hands against the fat plane of Rick’s stomach, not wandering down or up--just staying, rising and falling slightly as Rick breathed in and out.

At least he wouldn’t have to admit his fantasies out loud-

And the, betraying the hope that had fluttered and bloomed in Morty’s chest, Rick shook his head, his hands not moving from their place on the carpet. 

_Fuck._ Morty could just tell that this was going to end with humiliated tears pricking at his eyes, that his entire body would be stained red from embarrassment before the night was done. He let himself slump forwards in the realisation that he would be _fine_ with Rick making him cry, that Rick would find a way to make him like it.

“You have to be specific, M- _urghh_ -orty,” Rick’s breath mingled with Morty’s with how close their faces were. “Where do you want me to--to touch you?”

Rick was a fucking monster, Morty thought to himself, knowing that Rick would somehow pick up on his train of thought, just like he always did. Even so, he let his hands drop from Rick’s body to the floor, picking up each of Rick’s hands by his wrists. Rick followed limply, not participating yet, but watching Morty hold them above the ground, hovering so they weren’t touching any part of Morty’s body but his palms and fingers.

“ _Here,_ ” Morty said, making the choice that felt cliche and predictable, but loving the slight, slight pressure of Rick’s calloused palm pressing against his cock, fingers grazing it ever so lightly. His hips pushed him into Rick, and Rick took gentle initiative; beginning to rub in a way that was perfect, and absolutely not enough.

Morty held Rick’s other hand to his throat as he enjoyed the sensation, pressing down at Rick’s fingers until Morty was wearing him like a choker--like an edgy thirteen year old that was too scared to actively defy her mother, and instead chose to express her dissatisfaction with general living through clothing and music. 

Hey, he had a sister, alright? He knew how those things played out.

“What now?” Rick asked, and Morty would have an answer if he wasn’t totally concentrated on the sensations Rick was putting him through, the miniscule pressure making him long for more, and harder, and faster. He continued for a minute longer, Morty’s breaths coming in short gasps as he inched closer to orgasm, unbearably slow--and almost fearful that he would cum before Rick, and ruin this for the both of them--before stopping completely. His work-rough hand, instead, held onto the base of Morty’s member tightly, drawing a choked, primal noise from Morty’s throat (still cradled by Rick’s other hand). “C’mon, M-morty--you have to tell grandpa so he knows, alright?”

But Rick knew _everything._ He had to know what Morty wanted--it was dripping from his pores, evident in every move of his hips as he tried to thrust into Rick’s stomach--but he just held Morty back by the hand on his throat. If Morty tried to move closer, he was at risk of choking himself just to get off.

As time passed and Rick still didn’t move, that sounded more and more like a reasonable bargain.

It wasn’t like the light-headedness that came from gagging around Rick’s dick was _bad._ It was scary, but so was all of this and Rick wouldn’t let Morty die or anything. But he had a feeling that it wouldn’t matter whether he forced Rick to strangle him or not; when Rick was set in his ways, he was stuck there. If he wanted Morty to embarrass himself, then Morty was used to that.

“I want--I want you to touch me _harder,”_ Morty said, the end of his sentence almost disappearing as Rick redoubles his grip, squeezing at Morty’s throat, hand unyielding and so _strong_ that Morty could barely think. The grip on his member was still on the verge of painful, but Rick was finally moving, his sweaty palm easing the quick slick-slide of skin on skin. 

It _hurt,_ Rick’s hand aborting every breath Morty tried to take, but he felt safe as well--when he forced his eyes open, he could see Rick staring at his face, mouth open as drool slipped over his bottom lip and down his chin. Rick’s gaze always meant security, safety, because Rick saw everything, Rick knew everything, and if Morty was in danger-

Thought became a foreign concept as Morty’s chest heaved wildly, the pressure that was building inside him growing nearly unbearable, leaving him unable to focus on anything but the hands on his body. When there wasn’t room for air, there was room for sparks that exploded behind his eyelids when he let them slide closed, and he was so, so, so close, he could feel his orgasm building deep inside him. The lack of oxygen was switching everything off as he lost sense of where he was, and who he was with, and only had the sensations flowing through his body to go on. One of his hands clung to Rick’s wrist (the one that was causing Morty to lose the oxygen to his brain), almost pushing him away but not yet.

His other hand was on Rick’s sweaty shoulder, blunt nails digging into the flesh there as he tried to hold on, certain he would fall off the side of the earth if he didn’t.

He tried to warn Rick, eyes flying open as he peaked, peaked, _peaked_ -

But he didn’t, and Rick let him go except for the cruel hand on his cock that had tempered his orgasm so suddenly, right when he had been so ready to pass out and be carried away by a cloud of bliss despite the fact that it would cut this time short ( _unless Rick decided to keep going through it, which was a fantasy he had never thought he’d love so much_ ). He tried to buck, his hips jerking as he breathed in air that was working its way through his body and flipping everything on again.

“Rick!” Morty rasped, his voice hoarse and breaking. “P-please!”

He would have fallen back if it wasn’t for the death grip he had on Rick’s shoulder, and Rick’s hand on his dick, and even now his back was arched uncomfortably as his head lolled back, unable to summon the strength required to keep it straight.

“What next?” Rick asked, voice only slightly level, like he wasn’t ruining Morty’s life.

Morty didn’t realise he was crying until his tears hit the carpet, which let open the floodgates. He didn’t know exactly why he was crying, either--if it was because of the fact that he had been so close, or because of Rick strangling him, or because Rick was being so gentle with him now as he eased him back up, peppering kisses onto his face.

It all feels like a stupid joke, because the point is to cum, right? For Rick to sound like he had before, to sound like this had an effect on him too? Maybe he had brain damage--that whole _scene_ couldn’t have lasted longer than a minute, despite feeling like an eternity--but Rick was smart enough to know how to avoid that.

“R-ruh-rick,” Morty butchered the simple word, taking in deep breaths because he still didn’t feel back to right, didn’t feel normal enough to cope with the emotions and sensations being forced through his body. At least this breakdown had been semi-private, and Rick didn’t seem to mind much at all, if the slight smile on his face was anything to go by.

“You did so good, baby,” Rick praised him, making Morty’s cock twitch slightly. “You just need to--to hold on, so that it’s better for you.” The _and me_ wasn’t said, but it didn’t have to be; Rick always liked to benefit, even when other people were too. “Jus’--jus’ hold on for me, okay? You’re okay.”

Morty didn’t feel okay. He felt hollow and empty inside, like something had been moved out of place--his heart was lodged in his throat, and a hole was left where it used to be for Rick to fill up and take for his own.

“It’s just--it’s just my first time, Rick,” Morty let go of Rick’s shoulder and wiped at his face, and even though he was pretty sure Rick already knew, he was ashamed to admit it out loud. Rick was experienced, and he deserved someone that could take it better than Morty could.

Rick looked pleased. Happy. Like when he tricked a whole race into giving him access to the core of their planet and he used it to power a nightclub that he ditched in, like, a week. “I know,” he said, and Morty caught sight of blood welling to the surface near the base of his throat, right where he had held on for dear life. He hadn’t grabbed him that hard, had he? “I know, and this--it’ll make it better than any other time y-y-you’ve jerked it, I promise. You gotta trust me, Morty.”

Typical Rick, pushing Morty’s limits until he wasn’t sure they even existed anymore. Morty couldn’t lie and say he didn’t willingly follow Rick’s lead, though.

“Now where?”

Where did Morty want Rick to touch him next? _Did_ he want Rick to touch him again after--after whatever the _fuck_ that was?

The answer, somehow, was yes.

“I-” The problem was that Morty had only _dabbled_ in gay porn before; nothing ever serious, and he always went back to his stupid, specific fantasies with a redhead. He imagined his first time to be with a girl--if not Jessica, one of her slightly more desperate friends--with boobs, and long hair, and soft curves. Not a man, not Rick with his flat chest, and spikes, and hard lines. If this were a greasy video on the internet, or some nutjob’s erotica book, what would come next?

Most of the videos Morty watched would be over by now--he hadn’t watched anything like what Rick was doing to him, nothing like this long, drawn out torturous foreplay, and he wasn’t a big reader.

Rick smiled, almost graciously, and brought one of his hands to hover over Morty’s skinny chest, flicking his nipple lightly. “Here?” 

It didn’t feel great, at first, but the slight sting sunk down and spread out. Morty breathed in--it still wasn’t coming easily, but he was getting used to the burning--sharply, and focused. “Do--do it again,” he ordered, head tilted and eyes closed. To his surprise, Rick didn’t hesitate. He was more prepared for it this time, and he only let out a shaky breath.

Rick had to have been watching Morty’s reaction while Morty’s eyes were closed, because he let out a low chuckle. “No, that’s not it. Maybe…” Morty made sure his eyes were open to see where Rick was heading; and Rick skipped his fingers over Morty’s bruising throat, carding his fingers through Morty’s hair before trailing them down the curve of his spine.

Morty had never been particularly ticklish, but he shuddered at the sensation anyway.

Rick pressed hard on the base of his spine, highlighting a tension that Morty hadn’t even known existed until that very moment, before continuing even lower.

_Oh._

And, just like it had been made to be there, Rick’s big hand cupped his ass, the other coming to join it until both sets of long, talented fingers were kneading a cheek each. Morty buried his face in Rick’s shoulder, mouthing at the slightly bleeding cuts he had left before, as he tried to hide his face and collect himself.

It tasted like pennies in his mouth, like sweat and booze--as though Rick was sweating alcohol--but Morty kept up with the kitten licks, his arms wound around Rick’s neck ( _loosely_ ).

“You have such a pretty ass, Morty,” Rick cooed, and Morty tried so, so hard not to cum where he was sitting because, God, that made every bit of blood that wasn’t already filling his member rush to pool there. “I-it fits right in my hands, you feel that?” He squeezed, viciously, and Morty’s hips jerked forward.

_Why couldn’t he cum?_

The obvious answer was because Rick said he couldn’t, but--but Morty wanted it _bad_. Normal teenage boys wanted to play video games all day, and jack off into a sock, and not do their chores, and all Morty wanted was for his grandpa to let him orgasm.

What a life.

“ _Rick,”_ Morty said, and it felt like the only word in the world; it sunk deep into his brain matter, imprinting on every part of his mind he valued. 

“I can’t wait to _fuck_ it, Morty,” Rick growled as his index finger pressed teasingly against Morty’s fluttering hole. “I’ll s--I’ll fuck you until you’ve cum more than you ever have in your life, u-u-until you’re passed out, and then I’ll keep going, Morty, even if you’re knocked out, or asleep, and you’ll wake up knowing grandpa screwed you loose and sloppy.”

Morty moaned at the images blooming in his brain, his imagination wasting no time in providing him with the only fap material he’d ever need again for as long as he lived.

“Fuck me,” Morty gasped, his trembling hands--though whether the shaking was caused by fear or arousal, he would most likely never know--finding a home in Rick’s hair so he could wrench the older man’s head up, wild eyes staring into his. He had never seen Rick so, so--so out of control, not even when he was blackout drunk, or high on so many drugs that he couldn’t see straight.

Morty had made Rick like this, had forged a new place in Rick’s body for him--he was the new K-Lax, the new flask, and the carnal knowledge that Rick would never be able to turn him away after this--it filled him with pride and pleasure.

He was filled with love, too. He would never want to say it out loud, and he knew that Rick would never say it back, but it was undeniable in how beautiful it was. How encompassing.

Rick loved him, needed Morty like he did drugs--and drugs evoked the closest thing to genuine emotion in Rick. A few weeks ago, he never would have considered playing a role in his life that was as important as the substances that had taken over his life for decades, but now…

“You want it,” Rick said, brushing his nose against Morty’s, still teasing with just the one finger. “You want grandpa to fuck your slutty ass, Morty? You want me to cum inside you, a-and for you to have trouble walking for a week after?”

Rick talked big game. If it were anyone else, Morty wouldn’t be inclined to believe them, but Rick had fucked his way across the universe before Morty was a twinkle in his mom’s eye. He was infamous, and Morty had come across way too many people that wanted a piece of his grandpa’s ass.

Still, it didn’t seem like Rick was going to go further anytime soon, and Morty was nothing if not utterly debauched at this point.

The two tricks of Morty’s trade played out in his mind. He could cry even more, and bask in how gentle Rick was when he noticed the tears trickling over his cheeks, and take advantage of that gentleness for as long as he could. He didn’t doubt that Rick would be soft and sweet with him if he looked pathetic enough.

The second one… He could make Rick angry, could rile him up until his blood boiled and he fucked out all of the buried resentment and worthlessness and regret that festered at the bottom of Morty’s stomach. He could make Rick fuck him long and hard, and he could let himself hurt and be happy.

Pleasure and pain came together, right?

“You do-don’t have it in you,” Morty snarls, and Rick’s eyes flick up to his, narrowing into threatened slits. No-one challenged Rick, and even this kinder, sweeter, loving version of Rick wouldn’t just let Morty get away with the same attitude he was spitting. “I bet you’ll fucking--you’ll chicken out, Rick, we’ll have a quickie and you’ll take a nap while I have t-to jerk it, old man!”

His chest heaved when he finished, ragged breaths torn straight from his lungs, and he almost _shit_ himself at the molten lava in Rick’s eyes, the angry line of his mouth that betrayed just how frustrated he really was. Any Rick could look angry, furious even--but very few Ricks felt so struck by words that they just _shut up_.

Hearing Rick quiet, the sweet nothings that had been slipping out of his mouth, muffled by Morty’s skin, just stop; it made Morty want to break his back and fix it, and if his will hadn’t been tested over and over today, then he would apologise. 

As it was, he just let his chin jut out, fighting back a sudden rush of hormonal, frightened, _embarrassed_ tears.

Rick’s finger was still pressed against his asshole, no longer just lightly brushing over it, but pressing firmly; Morty had to resist the urge to clench up, to shove his hips forward so he wasn’t so exposed to this predator pushing against one of his most intimate areas.

Without warning, Rick pushed his dry, bony, _somehow too long_ finger inside Morty, and even though it was probably the smallest thing that could have entered him first, Morty cried out and scrabbled forward, blunt fingernails creating crescent moon shapes in Rick’s flesh; not that he appeared to care, or even notice. He had expected a reaction, like more dirty talk, or an acceleration, or some kinky shit as a punishment, but Rick was--he was-

He was inside Morty, even in the most simple way possible, and it was painful and scary, and Morty almost changed his mind in the split second it took for Rick to bury his way in, the base of his hand pressed uncomfortably into Morty’s behind. In that second, though, he also heard the moan that Rick let out, the undeniable bliss that fell from his tongue like the Devil falling from God’s grace.

“ _Rick--fuck-_ ”

It wasn’t good. It didn’t feel good, but the sound of Rick’s heavy breathing, the fact that he made that _noise_ at just getting a finger in--it battered at Morty’s defenses, softened his immediate reaction that said get _away,_ and he tried to force himself to relax.

It was an impossible contradiction, and he couldn’t help but get genuinely distracted by Rick’s words: “You don’t think I can give you what you need, _Mooorty?_ You don’t th-th-think that grandpa knows that you want him?” Morty let himself relax a little, reminded himself that this was Rick, who always fixed him right up after he got hurt. Rick must have felt it, because he angled Morty’s chin to face him gently, and his eyes were bright--not with rage this time--but with awe. “There we go, you--my sweet boy.”

“Why the fuck does it hu-hurt so bad?” Morty asked, scrunching his eyes up. “The megaseeds-”

Rick scoffed. “That happened when you were by yourself, a-and you had a shit ton of lube. And don’t try and tell me there weren’t tear-tracks on your cheek, because they-”

Morty had cried getting the megaseeds in. It had been humiliating and gross and painful, and he had had no clue what he was doing. But this was only one finger, so what was the deal with that?

Rick continued. “I-it’s your muscles, Morty, they weren’t ready. And, you know, I hadn’t been _planning_ on going in dry.”

He ran his hand up and down Morty’s back, though, in a movement more soothing than it had any right to be. Then he shifted his finger, which caused another wave of discomfort to travel through Morty’s body. It was drier than it had any right to be, and Morty was tighter than probably made sense as Rick’s semi-official contraband smuggler. And he was supposed to get used to it so that Rick could actually _fuck_ him.

 _Jeez_.

At least Morty had gotten Rick to break--though he had kind of failed to consider the possibility of Rick breaking him in return.

And, look; Morty wasn’t as scared by that as he probably should have been, because if there was anything Rick was good at--aside from what seemed like literally everything on earth (and not on earth)--it was fixing shit.

As long as he had incentive, of course, and hopefully Morty proved himself worthy of the attention.

 _Or you could just stay broken,_ a nasty voice spoke, just as harsh as Rick’s finger as he continued to move it. _Grandpa’s little fucktoy, good and bad and just for him. Aren’t you proud of yourself?_

It didn’t make Morty a bad person to say that _yes he fucking was._ He was the one that broke the cynical stoicism, the one that had cracked through the impenetrable facade of the infamous Rick Sanchez. It was worthless, weak, useless Morty Smith that had managed that--not the more capable Summer, nor his intelligent mother--at least that was as far as Morty knew.

And, like it had never been gone at all, the little niggling voice of doubt wriggled its way back through his ears, hiding behind his eyes.

“Rick,” Morty said, trying to focus on anything other than the way Rick was making him feel precious and special and cherished. “You--not with mom, or dad, or Sum-”

Rick stilled his slight grinding, his finger no longer unfamiliar enough to be causing an extreme amount of discomfort, but still strange nonetheless. “ _Fuck no,”_ he said darkly, so serious and stern that Morty almost cowered out of instinct. Sometimes Rick was so bright and boisterous that it was hard to remember that he was also a constant source of fear and panic for the rest of the universe.

Sometimes Morty needed reminding. 

In any case, he was so wonderfully and wholly relieved that this really was special. Rick was a liar and a cheater most days of the week, but he sounded sincere in a way Morty never really got to hear properly. He pulled back, his bleary brown eyes searching for any hint of deception hiding in Rick’s own grey ones.

Rick stared back evenly, exposing himself to Morty in a way that was as unique to him as their developing relationship was to Morty. He wasn’t even exaggeratedly offended as he sometimes pretended he was when Morty questioned him, and Morty’s cracked heart felt smoothed over.

“Okay,” Morty breathed, and Rick relaxed minutely at his obvious acceptance. “C-could you--please, Rick, please use some--some _lube_?”

The last word came out as a squeak, a hushed whisper that seemed too childish and stupid to even be voiced, by someone that didn’t know what they were doing, but Rick let out a deep, calming sigh that had Morty melting into a pile of goo. And then he _listened,_ his finger slipping out of Morty carefully, one hand reaching for his lab-coat while the other continued to squeeze at Morty’s ass, rubbing at the flesh there.

Morty couldn’t help but follow Rick’s movement with half-lidded eyes, his body relaxing as Rick gave him a terribly, wonderfully intimate massage. “That’s it, baby,” Rick said softly, and a pulse of arousal travelled through Morty’s body, a gentle wave instead of the tsunamis he already expected from Rick. “Relax for me.”

 _Jeez_ , he had never expected for Rick’s voice to be so _perfect_ for this. It was soothing and exciting and commanding all at once, and Morty could just drown in it and all of the feelings it sparked in his chest.

He watched Rick fumble with a small jar before managing to unscrew the lid, still only using one hand as he slicked his fingers up. Morty had seen him use those fingers to create miracles, and he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to see what else Rick could do with them.

When Rick didn’t immediately nudge back inside, and force him to open up, Morty groaned lowly, teeth clenched. Instead, Rick decided to prolong the torture even more, and rub his sticky hand into Morty’s ass cheeks, in an action that was more uncomfortable than it was sexy. 

Rick’s ability to just stop, to force both him and Morty through the motions until it was almost painful…

It was nothing short of fucking impressive.

After the fifth time of Rick’s finger circling the outside of his hole, Morty couldn’t play this fucking game anymore. “R-rick!” he cried out, frustrated, his asshole clenching around nothing but air. “C’mon, pl-please!”

Rick had already made sure there was room in Morty for him to slip into, and he’d be fucked if he was left empty for a second longer.

Rick, apparently, hadn’t gotten the memo. “Y-y-you want my fingers, Morty?” He pressed a greased finger in for just a _second,_ before he pulled it out again, Morty clenching around it in a useless bid to keep him trapped inside. “You’re so needy, baby, so needy for your grandpa’s fingers--what you would you do it I just fucked you, Morty? No prep?”

He thrust up, and Morty pushed down, the both of them giving and taking in unison as Morty gave Rick’s words the weight they were never supposed to have.

He knew then that he was undeniably fucked--because, sure, he would probably cry and yell, but he didn’t know that he would even be able to tell Rick no. His conflicted whining must have gotten to Rick, however, because it wasn’t all that long before he was pressing inside again, stroking against Morty’s soft inner walls.

“Fuuuuuck,” Rick said, slipping a second finger in just a little too soon (though it wasn’t like Morty had it in him to care at this point). “How many do you need, sweetie?” Then, almost to himself, he whispered: “ _Gotta make it fit, gotta make him ready for it-_ ”

“I don’t care,” Morty moaned, throwing his head back as Rick pressed kisses up his throat. “I don’t--whatever you think, Rick, you kno-know more than me, _you always fucking do-_ ”

There was nothing Rick loved more than someone stroking his ego (except, Morty thought to himself, maybe someone stroking his dick--the stupid joke was more amusing than it had any right to be, and he wondered if he actually had brain damage).

“We can--can you do three, baby, yeah?” And Rick was being _soft_ again, not cruel like he had been before, staving off the orgasm that was still bubbling low in Morty’s belly. The whiplash was making his head hurt the tiniest bit, but he had a feeling he liked it so he didn’t let it ruin anything.

Morty nodded, near frantic, and he couldn’t tell the difference between the sweat and tears on his face--but, while he was sure that he looked horrible (he certainly felt it), Rick was still doing something that Morty had never expected him to do, not in a million years.

He was _loving_ Morty.

There was no other explanation for the way Rick was angling his fingers in a way that had fireworks lighting up in Morty’s nervous system, nothing else that suggested why Rick was treating him like something--like _someone_ \--special.

He hadn’t even treated Unity like how he was treating Morty, and Morty knew that Unity was the closest that Rick had ever gotten to functional, or loving.

A third finger made its way in, and Morty let out a shaky breath that turned into a moan as Rick flexed his fingers, spreading and scissoring and turning Morty into a puddle of hormones and precum.

“Riiiick,” Morty whined his favourite word of the night, and Rick did nothing but accommodate him in the worst possible way as he pulled his fingers out with a wet _schlick_ noise that was only vaguely familiar from porn.

Rick resettled Morty on his lap, the flared head of his member catching slightly on Morty’s hole, inspiring a new slew of curses from Morty, who was only slightly aware of it.

And then Rick was pushing in, only a little, and Morty could have cum right on the spot if it wasn’t for the hand that had--somehow--reappeared to squeeze harshly enough to dissuade it.

“No,” Morty cried real, legitimate tears when Rick pulled out in what certainly felt more like a punishment than it did any kind of reward.

“You want this?” Rick asked. “Prove it.”

Morty's words from the bathroom were thrown back in his face, and Morty threw his head back, gasping loudly as he pawed at Rick’s shoulders, his neck, his chest, wherever he could reach. Supernovas blew out behind his eyes as finally, _finally,_ Rick loosened the vice grip he had on Morty’s hips that had stopped him from slamming his weight down and taking what they both wanted.

The stimulation was so much, too much, or maybe just enough that his brain cells were committing suicide to the wild pounding of his heart beneath his ribcage.

He tested lightly, still feeling the ache of burst capillaries, the flushed head of Rick’s cock pushing against his entrance in a way that made him decide that this definitely wasn’t enough. His head was spinning from a lack of oxygen, the dull pain that settled itself in the back of his throat and nose reminding him of their presence when he inhaled sharply at the slight, terrible, wonderful breach of Rick’s cockhead. It was then that Rick grabbed at Morty again, stopping him from pushing down even more even though Morty knew he wanted it.

And, God, Morty knew he wanted it. 

Rick looked wild, reverent, eyes brighter than stars as he let his teeth sink into the hollow of Morty’s throat, blunt nails biting at pale flesh and reddening it until Morty knew he would be covered in bruises for a few weeks at least.

“Rick!” Morty tried to push down, tried to remove Rick’s hands from his waist, but the man didn’t budge. “Please, please! I need it, Rick, please-”

Rick groaned like he had been slugged in the stomach, the exact same noise he had made a million times before in every single scenario except for this one. Morty had seen Rick everywhere except for here, and now he had seen him… there was no turning back from how much he needed Rick in that exact moment.

“Jus’--jus’ wait, Morty,” he rasped, sounding more like a chain smoker than an alcoholic as his muscles jumped under his skin. “It’ll be so much better, Morty, trust me, baby.”

Morty let out a choked sob, eyes filling with crocodile tears as he was forced to stay still, despite every bone in his body protesting moving, despite the fact he was hollow and empty, and the fact there was a space inside him just for Rick. He felt like a junkie, high off the way Rick moaned his name, and he would never admit to wanting Rick to say more… but he would. He couldn’t keep it inside, the need and desire and _love_ bubbling over until it came out with saltwater in his eyes, coming up his throat in a spew of words that he never thought he would say.

Maybe Rick was scared, or maybe he wanted to torture Morty, but he couldn’t _take_ it.

“Rick!” he cried, trying to push down again even though he knew it was pointless, and whining when he inevitably failed. He looked at Rick with bleary eyes, feeling Rick everywhere around him. Rick’s lap was impossibly warm, his arms solid bands of iron, his lips and mouth searing holes in Morty where they touched him. “Rick, I need you, please, please let me, I promise I’ll do anything-”

Rick let out a low, harsh chuckle that rumbled in his chest, and Morty almost started to struggle because he needed to move, needed to push his skin against Rick’s until he couldn’t tell where he started and where he ended.

“You want it, Mooorty? You’ll do anything? Anyone can promise me that, gorgeous,” Rick’s breath teased at his ear, the hot puff making Morty shudder despite himself. “You gotta do better than that, or I can keep you like this all night. Maybe I’ll even leave and tie you up, baby, all pretty and tied up while I jack off onto you, and you’ll get _nothing_. Is that what you want, sweetie?”

The pet-names were strange and perfect-- _gorgeous, sweetie, pretty, baby_ \--and the rest of the sentence had Morty shaking his head wildly, sweat-slicked curls plastered to his forehead. “No!” he yelped half-way through the word as Rick tugged at his earlobe viciously with his teeth. The bite made the balance of pleasure and pain all the more harder to spot, teetering dangerously. “Rick, please, you need to understand--I need you, Rick, more than anything, I’ll do whatever you want-” Rick’s hands didn’t shift, and he wished that Rick hadn’t given him any leeway at all in the first place, as the rest of his channel fluttered in expectation, only just held open by the head of Rick’s cock. “-I’ll be yours, Rick, I’ll be yours forever, and I’ll--I’ll do whatever you say, if you let me, _please.”_

“Say it, Morty,” Rick said, sounding absolutely _wrecked._ Morty couldn’t help but know what he meant, what he wanted, and his breath got stuck in his throat as Rick brushed against his dick, just a little. “ _Say it._ ”

“I love you, Rick!” Morty sobbed loud enough that his diaphragm hurt, loud enough that he thought his throat would hurt for days in a way that reminded him of this moment, made him think of nothing but Rick, Rick, _Rick._ “More than anything, more than anyone-” it hurt a little, how true that was “-please, just put it in! Please!”

Rick growled like an animal, and Morty would have given anything to see his face as Rick slammed his hips up, and Morty sank down, down, down, but his eyes screwed up on their own accord as he _wailed._ The sound was new, and scary, and it reverberated in Rick’s room where the sound barrier swallowed the noise. He couldn’t help but clamp his thighs around Rick’s slim waist, attempting to stop him from pulling up so he could have just a moment of rest--but when Rick pulled him up anyway, he let him without complaining.

Rick was right. The waiting had made Morty desperate, made his nerves fizzle out only for the sudden stimulation to make them explode against the backs of his eyelids, his desperation climbing higher and higher along with his voice.

“That’s what you get,” Rick sounded harsh and violent, but Morty had never felt so cared for that it only added to his enjoyment. “That’s what you fucking get for being a--a cock-hungry slut, _Morty._ ”

Rick grabbed onto the nape of his neck with one hand, the other hand still pressing bruises into his hip, and Morty let himself be maneuvered, let Rick continue slamming into him like he was trying to break him from the inside out, forcing Morty down onto his back without his cock slipping from the warm confines of Morty’s ass.

“Rick!” Morty said, and he tried to cling onto the english language, tried to figure out how to appropriately express how absolutely wrecked he felt, but no word came to him other than Rick’s name, and he clawed desperately at Rick’s back as he held on for dear life. “R-rick!”

“You wanna cum, sweetie?” Rick asked before sucking a deep mark into Morty’s neck, slowing his thrusts so dramatically that a feral growl was ripped from Morty’s throat at the loss. Breaking away from Morty’s skin, he continued: “C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta--gotta put some work in too, y’know?”

Morty didn’t know how he was expected to do anything when he was like this, because Rick was making him _crazy._

“Baby,” even with his eyes closed, Morty knew that Rick was smirking, could hear it in his voice, and he cracked his eyes open the tiniest bit to glare at him. He let them fall shut again and arched into Rick as he was punished with a wonderfully brutal thrust. “You have to put your back into it, you have to-”

And, hey, Rick’s cock might have officially reduced Morty to a willing slave (because he didn’t know how Rick could ever convince him out of bed again if this was what it felt like to be in one _with_ him), but he knew mocking when he heard it, and he also knew that Rick didn’t expect him to do anything but lie back and take whatever it was Rick had to offer.

That was why, when Rick pulled back--and Morty almost got distracted, because he felt so empty and needy that he wanted him back inside more than anything--Morty used his legs that were wrapped around Rick’s waist still, and pulled him back in, and basked in the _warmth_ and _fullness_ and _pleasure_.

And Rick let him. This time, Rick let Morty just keep him inside for a moment, just let his cock press lightly against his prostate as Rick dropped his lube covered hand to slide up and down Morty’s cock in a way that felt so, so, so _fucking amazing_ that Morty couldn’t believe he had ever gotten off by himself before.

“Oh, you want it _slow,”_ Rick’s voice said, husky and warm. He pulled out, excruciatingly slowly, and Morty clenched around him immediately at the too-slow drag against his insides. “Baby, you should have just _said.”_

Rick looked gorgeous. He looked like the god he always claimed he was, and Morty was ready to become one of his devoted right then and there if he kept looking at Morty like that--like Rick really thought Morty was equal to him, and like he thought Morty was the most beautiful creature to stand under the sun.

Why was it so easy to love Rick who, by all accounts, should be anything but lovable?

Rick pushed in again, and the moment felt so private and intimate that even Morty felt like an intruder as their eyes locked, and Rick leaned in, slowly and carefully, to capture Morty’s lips with his.

They kissed, deep and slow, Rick continuing to pump his hips forward, and almost letting Morty fall apart in his arms.

Morty turned his face away for a moment, gasping for air as Rick picked up the pace again, pulling Morty back to meet his thrusts because Morty was so overwhelmed, so overstimulated that he couldn’t do anything more than hold onto Rick and toss his head from side to side, moaning in a way that would have embarrassed him if he wasn’t being fucked silly.

“You wanna cum?” Rick asked, and Morty could have sobbed--did, in fact--because he knew that Rick knew he did. He wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything before, needed it more than he had ever needed food or water, because Rick was his whole world and Morty knew that, whatever he offered, Morty would use to live and thrive.

“Yes!” Morty hissed when Rick’s hand grabbed too hard at his cock once more, his legs falling open submissively. 

Morty didn’t know what had made Rick change his mind, what had made him decide to let Morty find release but, finally, in an act that made Morty want to fall apart and worship Rick on his hands and knees, Rick let the stars burn and twist in Morty, and he finally let Morty fall apart with them.

Rick kept going past that, though, even as Morty twisted away from the overstimulation he was being forced through, sweaty and tired, unbelievably sated but still needy for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on at the same time.

Rick, like always, seemed to know exactly what he wanted.

“ _Fuck, I love you,”_ Rick said, stilling inside of Morty after one, brutal, final thrust and Morty’s body _jerked_ like he was being pulled by his heartstrings _._

Love. _Love._ It was one thing for Morty to say it, as someone who was decidedly less jaded than Rick, but for Rick to even think of it?

Rick pushed him forward, forcing Morty to wrap his legs around Rick’s waist as the man collapsed, chest heaving and body sweaty, onto Morty. They lay like that for a few moments, sucking down mouthful after mouthful of oxygen, Morty’s mind flayed open and raw along with his heart.

His ass hurt (in the best way), and his whole body felt oversensitive, like someone had run electricity down his spine, tickling his brain and leaving him bone-tired and heavy.

Rick kissed at his ear, and Morty shied away, giggling softly all the while. Dangerous thoughts overwhelmed him, of Rick fucking him to sleep and still going, of Morty waking up knowing nothing and everything, but he pushed it out of his mind.

They could explore that later.

“You think you’re ready for--for round two, Morty?” Rick asked, and Morty just slumped back, overwhelmed and exhausted, but still young enough that his dick twitched from interest, despite every other part of his body protesting. The reasonable, proper answer should be no, but... “Come on, baby, you know you want to.”

And, _fuck,_ Morty wanted to.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> me and my girlfriend don't know a lot about male sex, so excuse inconsistencies in the sex scene? love your favourite (not so) local lesbian <3
> 
> if you want to commission your OWN 30k smut story, check out my commission info [HERE](https://xbloodrunsredx.tumblr.com/post/188422662476/writing-comissions) or just send me a message! i love to chat with you guys :))
> 
> before you go, make sure to drop a kudos and comment! keyboard smashes, different languages, i love them ALL, so don't be shy!


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